


I Won't Run From It

by MotherOfCups



Series: The Iris Oracle [2]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: AMAB Asra, Dysfunctional Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Flashbacks, Get comfy 'cuz this novels a long boi, Healing, Let's enjoy the ride together, M/M, Magic, Memories, Multi, Novelization, OT3, Part 2 of 4, Polyamory, Smut, Tags will be added, Tarot, Trauma, We're in uncharted territory kids, Witchcraft, canon-divergent, content warnings, feedback WELCOMED, mental health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2020-12-27 14:29:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 96,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21120302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherOfCups/pseuds/MotherOfCups
Summary: Each question answered, each memory recovered, each strange dream, each secret revealed - these only present Iris with more questions as she slowly unravels the threads that tie her to Asra, to Julian, to Nadia, to Vesuvia.





	1. The Lovers, Part 1: You Can't Go Back To Constantinople

**Author's Note:**

> This is part two of a four part series! Go read part one [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20712947/chapters/49204718). Or be confused, I ain't here to tell you what to do y'all.
> 
> I can't write without music. Listen along [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/11blweUtQklVHHtxeAP11U). 
> 
> Content warnings will be added at the beginning of each chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Violents, Monica Martin - Unraveling **
> 
> _ CW: Kinky sex, but like, the lightest softest kinky sex because I'm baby _

Iris wandered, the underbrush crackling beneath her bare feet. This was not the forest she walked with Asra, collecting mushrooms and wood-herbs and spring flowers, the forest that cradled the lemonstone cliffs of the Vesuvian inlet, ashes and elms, oaks and cedars, the quiet calm chaos of morning. This forest was wild and ancient, trees wider than Iris’s armspan that towered over her like the columns of a temple, the wet creak of moss, sunlight sharp as knives stealing through the canopy. It was almost silent, save for the chatter of a creek, the color of firewater, gold-gold. Iris didn’t know this place at all, and yet it called to her in a very familiar voice, every step she took was careful and sure, and she followed the narrow but trodden path, lined with painted cairns, faces of every shape, every color, mouths round with surprise, twisted in sorrow, curved with the soft sweetness of joy – 

Then it was bitterly cold, the night black and starless, the sea stretched out in front of her, slate-gray, murmuring. She was standing on a chalk-cracked cliff, bleak white, shivering as the wind cut through her, shook the grasses that brushed against her knees, the massive buds of white flowers barely peeking through the safety of tightly furled leaves. In front of Iris was a mirror, suspended in the moonlight, its silvery frame historiated with carved flowers, foxglove and starstrand and whitewinter lily and marigold, but Iris wasn’t looking at the frame – she was looking at the mirror, shattered, so many, so many pieces missing, her fractured, piecemeal, startled reflection staring back at her, eyes wide, eyes bloody –

Then she was running, running through singed and blackened hedgerows, so tall she could barely see the carmine sun overhead, shuddering, blinking, vibrating like a diseased eye. She ran and she ran, breathless, lungs useless, her chest was going to explode, her heart booming in her ears, through the twists and turns and tricks of the maze; they seemed to be narrowing, dark and claustrophobic around her, until the branches were scraping at her shoulders and arms like claws. She burst into a clearing, not the exit, no, but an unending, infinite number of paths, undulating like the innards of a clockface. She felt hot tears, frustration, exhaustion, burst over her cheeks like bee stings as she stumbled to her knees, her fists clenched against the bare of her thighs –

*******

Iris awoke the next morning to birdsong, to a pounding headache; the mellow mid-morning sun spun lazily through the floor-length windows of her quarters, but needled her vision with white spots, blinking, aching, bursting.

She was lying on her side, facing the light. She could feel Asra’s chest pressed into her back, his warm breath swirling against her ear, her hair. They had fallen asleep like this, his body coiled around her like a protection spell, his back to the door; they were both so exhausted that they had hardly moved all night. 

Gently, she turned her body so she was facing him, hoping not to disturb his sleep, but it was no use – he stirred, his eyelids fluttering. His lips parted, a sweet grumble escaping. 

“Good morning.” Iris murmured as Asra opened his eyes fully, deep, mesmerizing purple hazy and soft with sleep. Iris kissed both of his eyelids, and he leaned into her. 

“How’s your head?” He whispered, his eyelashes fluttering against her lips; even with his voice heavy from sleep, Iris could practically taste the suffocating concern on his tongue.

“It’s...fine.” Iris lied, and the pain surged again.

Asra tenderly stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. “That’s good. You used to get excruciating migraines when you regained your memories before.”

Iris sat up a little. “What do you mean, before?” 

Asra rolled onto his back and stretched; for a moment, he was silent, eyes distant. “After...after you came back. There was a year or so where I tried – tried to restore your memories. Everything I could think of – scent, places, recreating things we’d done together. I consulted the Arcana. I told you everything I knew. Nothing...nothing worked...” He trailed off, voice low, quiet. Pained. 

Iris nuzzled into him, biting back the dull throbbing of her temples. “Why did you stop trying?” 

Asra turned to her, their foreheads touching. “You would go catatonic, Iris. Nothing I could do would wake you. I was afraid that if I pushed you too hard, you would never get them back...or worse, you would always be in pain.” His eyes danced over her face, his expression strained. “So I just...stopped. I couldn’t bear to hurt you over and over again.”

Iris placed her hand on his chest; his heart was racing, in tandem with her own. “One of the memories I saw yesterday was my own…and I’ve regained a lot of memories in the last few days.” She mused, her voice quiet, uncertain. “Maybe they’ll serve as an open door.” 

Asra pulled her into his arms, his chin resting on the crown of her head. “I hope so.” 

Iris was silent a moment. Then, she muttered, “Why did you do it?” 

“Do what?” 

“...leave. Leave Vesuvia.” 

She felt him shake his head against hers. “Another day. One memory at a time, Iris.” 

Iris ached, and clutched Asra tighter to her. He kissed her gently, his lips lingering on hers. “Can I ask you some questions about the memories I saw, then?” She whispered

Asra sighed heavily, then sat up, one hand threading through his curls. “Yes.” 

“I don’t understand the timeline. Everything happened so fast, but it doesn’t make sense in the order I saw them.” 

Asra pursed his lips. “Memories aren’t always linear, and you were accessing the memories of several people, so there could be some overlap...even some distortion. Can you describe them for me? How many did you see?” 

Iris rubbed her hand against the back of her neck, thinking. “There were seven...” Her eyes shot open. She rolled over suddenly and reach for the deck on the bedside table. 

“I consulted the Arcana before... I pulled seven cards...” Iris flipped quickly through the deck; the cards she saw yesterday practically leapt into her hands. 

Asra sat up fully now, crosslegged. He rested his cheek on his hand and his elbow on his knee as Iris reordered the cards.

**The three of cups. The Hierophant, reversed. The Tower. The five of cups. Justice, reversed. The one of cups. Strength. **“This was their order,” Iris muttered, her eyes dancing over the cards. “I couldn’t make any sense of it yesterday.”

“Okay...” Asra was deep in thought. “What are you thinking? One for each memory?” 

Iris nodded. She pointed to the **three of cups**. “This is definitely the first memory I saw. You and Julian were working together, laughing, joking. He showed you some kind of drawing, notes...I couldn’t see what it was. You were having fun together, teasing each other.”

Asra nodded, his neck bowing as he rested his head in his ringed hands. “Friendship, companionship, support. Makes sense. What did you see next?” 

“You and he were working again, but it was night. He grabbed your wrist...told you he wanted you. You gave him the key to the shop, but you didn’t...you didn’t respond emotionally to him. It was confusing.” 

Asra’s eye’s darkened, recalling. “It was a confusing time. I...I missed you, so much. But...” he trailed off, licking his lips in concentration. 

“You were lonely.” Iris finished his thought, her voice small. “And you wanted Julian. I...I saw it in a different memory. This one must have come before that.”

“What was happening in that one? The other one you saw?” Asra asked, running his hand through this hair, pushing it out of his eyes. 

Iris paused, unsure of how to explain. “You were being intimate in the library.” She said after a moment. “It was...pretty rough.” 

Asra laughed softly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’d forgotten about that.” 

Iris threw him an incredulous look. “How? It was...” 

Asra smiled with just one corner of his mouth. “Hot? Great sex? Yes, but...” He looked up at the canopy of the bed, his eyes unseeing; he was far away. “I was feeling so much at that time, but I had to keep it under control. I couldn’t...I didn’t want him to see. I had no release...not even being with him.”

Iris reached out and gently rubbed his knee; she didn’t know what to say. He placed his hand over hers, tracing his thumb over her knuckles fondly.

She pointed to the last card. “Maybe...that memory is **Strength**, then?”

“Taming instincts...controlling emotions...maintaining composure...it’s possible.” He furrowed his brow. “Tell me more about the others.” 

Iris swallowed, her throat dry, sharp, as the images swirled in front of her eyes, and her headache reared its head, stabbing, like nails in her brain, and she suppressed a wince. “They’re not happy memories... are you doing okay?”

“I’m okay…are you?” 

Iris nodded, her sigh heavy as she gathered her thoughts. “The third memory I saw was of Julian and Valdemar talking. I...I must have just died.” Her voice wavered, and the pain in her head split through her meridian, but she soldiered on. “Valdemar left, and Julian started...sobbing, he was…distraught. Then you came in, and he told you what happened...” 

Asra looked at her, puzzled. “Whose memory was that? Mine?” 

“No...Julian’s. It was his voice I heard.” Her breath caught as the sound of his wailing echoed in her ears, her heart clenching, her blood cold.

Asra leaned back on his elbows; a shaft of sunlight drifted over the dense muscle of his trunk. “That’s...impressive.” 

“What is?”

“The memories you find in personal affects or books aren’t actually stored in the objects themselves.” Asra explained. “They act as tethers to the mind of the memory’s owners. That’s why you might feel their emotions, and sometimes physical sensations, so acutely, especially if you have a personal connection with the memory-holder.” He flushed a little. “You’re reliving the memories in the mind of the person it happened to.” 

Iris nodded. “But what’s impressive about that?”

“That’s a memory I took from Ilya. You either accessed it from deep in his subconscious, or you accessed his memory through me, and the protections I’ve put up around them. Neither is an easy feat, even for a clairvoyant.” He shook his head, finger trailing up his sternum, stopping just short of the necklace that laid against his collarbone. “You grow stronger and stronger every day, Iris. It’s a pleasure to watch you grow.” He gently grabbed her wrist from his knee, pressing his lips into the soft skin on the underside of her arm; his eyes, his smile, were full of pride. “What came next?” 

Iris swallowed. “I saw...It was another of Julian’s memories. He...” Iris’s lips trembled, her voice breaking. 

Asra shushed her gently, leaning forward and pressing one finger into her lips. “I think I understand. After that?” 

“It was the same night, but what you saw. You taking on his memories.” Iris gasped, remembering what Julian said to Asra, the naked anguish, and an unbidden tear slid down her cheek as more pain radiated through her head. Asra’s hand rose to her jaw, his thumb brushing the tear away.

“And the last?” 

Iris closed her eyes. Her temples were pounding ferociously now. “The memory was mine. It was all three of us at a masquerade. You...you wanted to leave Vesuvia, and take me with you. The plague had spread to the palace, but I refused to go.” Her eyes welled up in earnest now. “I...I rejected you – I was so cruel – ”

“That’s enough.” Asra held out his arms to her, and she crawled to him; he wrapped her in a warm embrace, pulling her into his bare lap. 

“I think the cards gave you what you needed.” Asra mused, his lips warm against Iris’s cheek. “The first memory is the oldest; the beginning of the plague, and of my friendship with Ilya, more than five years ago now. The **Hierophant, reversed**...you refusing me, your mentor, and making a difficult choice for yourself at the masquerade based on your own values. That was that winter. **The Tower**...” 

Here, Asra paused, taking a deep breath. “That was your death. Spring, four years ago. You and I had been apart for over a year. The **five of cups**...loss, grief, sorrow. Ilya’s suicide attempt in late spring, a few weeks after your death.” He paused, swallowed. 

“**Justice, reversed.**” Iris chimed in. “Making choices for others, deception. Knowing the truth will come out. That must be you taking Julian’s memories away. Then, the **one of cups**...the seed of a relationship, planted.” 

Asra rubbed Iris’s shoulder. “That wasn’t much long after. Midsummer, maybe. The last memory was maybe a month after that. **Strength**.” He buried his face in her neck, his breath hot. 

“It must be hard to remember all this.” Iris whispered, before kissing his forehead. “Thank you for helping me.” 

“Iris...” He looked up at her, his eyes imploring. “I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of. It pains me that you saw any of this.”

Iris shook her head. “I’m glad I did. You don’t have to carry all this alone, now.” 

Asra’s response to this was to kiss her deeply; his hand ran up her back and he cupped the back of her head. He slowly laid her down on the bed, never breaking their kiss. Iris felt the weight of his hips on hers, his desire stirring. He ran his hand longingly down her side, grabbing her waist. 

“I missed you.” He purred, pulling back so he could stare into her eyes. 

“Asra, it was literally only two days.” Iris chuckled, but she ran her fingers tenderly through his hair. 

He kissed her right where her breasts began to swell, looking up at her through long eyelashes. “Any amount of time is too long.” He kissed lower and lower, until he reached the skin just above her hardening nipple, when an impish smile played across his face. 

“Iris...did you like what you saw when you were watching me and Ilya?” 

Heat rose to Iris’s cheeks. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean, was there anything you wanted to try?” He purred, tracing the outline of her breast with a ringed, amber finger. 

Iris paused. “It was a lot of stuff we already do...restraining, spanking, gagging. Anal.” 

“What about domination? Or humiliation?” Asra’s eyes twinkled, his pupils dilating. “Those were Ilya’s favorites.” 

A heat swam through her as she remembered the way Asra punished Julian for saying his name. “How would that work?” 

Asra smiled cheekily. “That depends on what you want to try. Do you want to be dominated? Or would you want to try dominate me?” 

“Be dominated.” Iris replied, quickly; she surprised herself. Asra’s smile widened and he sat up, his body towering over hers. 

“We would talk about boundaries. What are you comfortable with? Dirty talk? Being called names? Do you want rules? Are things like roughness, hair pulling, slapping and spanking in bounds?”

Iris’s heart started racing; she was getting hot just thinking about trying this with Asra. “You know I’m okay with roughness, hair pulling, and spanking. And let’s just try name-calling and dirty talk for now.” 

Asra bit his lip; he was fully hard now. “Sounds fun. Are any subjects off limits? I don’t want to hurt you.” 

Iris shook her head. “I can’t think of anything...”

“What about magic? Are you okay with me casting a spell on you without your permission?” 

Iris hesitated, then nodded. 

“Can I...can I enter you without asking?” He blushed a little at the question. Iris nodded to this, too. 

“Then we’d pick a safe word. You’d say this to me any time it’s too much or you want to stop. I might use it too if I don’t feel good about something we did. It should be something we won’t accidentally say during.” 

Iris chewed her lip, thoughtful. “What was your safe word with Julian?” 

Asra let out a sonorant, full-throated laugh. “You’re going to laugh...” 

Iris raised her eyebrows. 

“It was sweet pea.” 

Iris snorted, a grin flitting across her face. “That’s actually...really cute.” 

Asra smiled. “Well, we can use it too, if you like.” 

Iris raised her chin, certain. She nodded. “Let’s try it.” 

“You’re sure?” 

“Yes.” 

Asra bent down to kiss her, his hand dipping into her hair. He opened his mouth and she, hers; their tongues swirled against each other, and for a moment, they were both lost in each other’s kiss. Iris pulled away, a little unwillingly, to ask, “So how do we start?” 

In a flash, she felt him grip her hair tightly, his fingernails scraping hard against her scalp. Asra pulled her head back by her hair, exposing her long neck. She gasped, and he growled, “You don’t get to decide that.”

He grabbed her breast roughly with his other hand, surveying her, before sinking his teeth into the side of her neck, sucking hard, nearly breaking the skin; he was sure to leave a bruise. Iris moaned; he let go, his darkened eyes roving up to hers, his lips parted, heavy. 

“Who do you like fucking more, me or Ilya?” His voice was soft, quiet, but full of power. It left Iris breathless for a moment; she felt herself filling up with wetness. 

“Julian...” she muttered, a disobedient smile flitting across her lips. Asra raised an eyebrow and laughed darkly, then grabbed the swell of her ass brusquely before spanking her hard, the sound sharp in the quiet room. 

“You have some nerve to say that in my bed.” He grabbed her waist and lifted her up without ceremony, guiding her inelegantly onto her hands and knees. He leaned back and groped the swell of her buttocks before spanking her again. 

“Is he gentler than me? Is that what you like?” Asra growled. "Someone to make love softly to you, like you deserve the world?"

“Yes...” Iris moaned coyly, arching her back. Asra slapped her ass again, even harder this time, and grabbed at her hair, this time pushing her neck forward. 

"You only deserve what I give you." He pressed his hips against the valley between her spread buttocks; Iris could feel the heat of his erection against the tender skin there. “Such a little slut. Fucking two people in the same day.” He groaned; his hand found the small of her back and forced her down, so her breasts and face were pressed against the bed, then he raked his nails down her back, raw red paths springing up on her skin. His hands found her ass again, grasping needfully. 

“You even fucked him in our bedroom.” He muttered. “You insatiable bitch.” One finger traced down the place here where her skin parted before resting on her anus, applying light pressure and small circling motions; his fingertips were lubed, hot. There was a soft flash of purple light and he plunged his cock into her wetness below; Iris whimpered loudly, her natural resistance pushing against him.

He let out a low grunt as her warmth encircled him. “You can never get enough cock, can you?” He asked, his voice dripping with contempt. Iris moaned as she lengthened, accommodating his girth, and he began to thrust quickly into her. She arched her back and raised herself up onto her elbows to adjust his angle, but he placed a hand on the space between her shoulder blades and pushed her down, pressing her face into the silk sheets as he pumped. 

“Fuck me, Asra.” She panted, and a silk cloth appeared suddenly, wadded in her mouth. 

“Be quiet, Iris.” He grunted, and thrust into her harder. He began to apply more pressure on her with his fingers, and she gave under his touch; he slipped his sister finger in to the first knuckle, and then the second. Iris could barely contain a muffled howl of pleasure. 

Iris felt his hand under her sternum as he lifted her up and swiveled her, without breaking his rhythm, against the wall next to them. With his free hand, he clenched at her hair one more time, pushing her face roughly into the wall. 

She arched her back against him and let out a stifled moan; he thrusted into her feverishly. Soon, an animal sound rose up from deep inside him; he pulled himself out of Iris and groaned her name, his hot cum spurting onto her back and ass. 

He rested his forehead against the back of her shoulder, his breath like frantic puffs of steam against her skin. “Fuck...” He whispered, then laughed softly.

Iris reached back to touch Asra’s hair as he recovered; his lips found her vertebrae, kissing her gently up her back to her neck. “You were amazing...” He whispered, panting slightly still. “I love it when you defy me...” He magicked away her muzzle.

“You were the star of the show.” Iris muttered, wiping the saliva off her lips. “Julian must have been a good teacher.” 

Asra chuckled lightly. “He wasn’t the only teacher I had.” He wiped her back gently with one of the cool, damp towels left by the wash basin; it must have been warm when it was left there early this morning. Once satisfied, he pressed a final kiss into her neck and guided her onto her stomach on the bed, his hand coming to rest on the small of her back. 

Iris turned to him, her eyes dreamy. “How did you know Julian and I…?” 

Asra’s smile grew mischievous. “Faust, of course.” 

Iris laughed, her mouth wide; she imagined Faust, coiled lazily across one of the many pillows and nests of blankets that dotted the flat, watching her and Julian with her curious, child-like eyes. “Poor Faust.” She muttered, her lips still split around a smile. 

Asra chuckled. “She’s seen worse.” 

There was a quiet knock on the door. “Are you decent?” Portia called, her voice gentle. 

“One moment, Portia.” Asra answered. He lifted a hand; two luxurious robes flew off the chaise into his outstretched palm. One was a silk, kimono-style robe in a pale mint color; around the hem and sleeves were large white, indigo, and purple-throated irises. The other was a deep, warm, luxurious purple, the fabric thicker, but slinky, embroidered all over with gold and silver diamonds.

Asra helped Iris into the mint-green robe, tenderly knotting the sash around her waist; Iris draped the purple robe over his shoulders and smoothed the collar as he shrugged his arms in, knotting the sash with magic. Asra surveyed Iris, his eyes awash with unabashed adoration; he kissed her forehead quickly, before sitting on the edge of the bed, guiding her to sit next to him. 

“Come in, Portia,” Iris called, her hand finding the small of Asra’s back. 

Portia threw open the door and bustled in. Iris’s admiration for her energy, her playfulness, grew every day, though now Portia’s eyes fell on Iris a little suspiciously. She was still huffy about the spell Iris cast on her last night, though she hardly batted an eyelash when Iris showed up in the laundry with Asra on her arm last night, searching for dry clothes for the both of them. 

“Good morning, you two, though it’s truthfully closer to noon. You’ve been sleeping for quite some time.” In Portia’ arms were two luxurious outfits in coordinating, but not matching, colors and patterns. 

“The Countess handpicked these outfits for you herself – she hopes you will both find them satisfactory.” Portia reported, her voice lilting. “Iris, she meant to join you today in your investigations, but she unfortunately has one of her headaches. You have the day off to spend as you will.”

“Asra, you’re welcome to stay with Iris while she’s a guest as a palace, but you’re also free to come and go as you wish, should you like to check in at the shop or attend to any other business.” Her eyes roved between them; she pursed her lips together tentatively before speaking. 

“Iris...may I have a word with you?” Portia requested pointedly. 

Asra cleared his throat and stood. “I think I’ll make use of the bath.” He stole a furtive glance at Iris over Portia’s head before closing the door behind him. 

Portia cleared her throat. “I wanted to speak to you yesterday, Iris, but you didn’t seem in the mood for conversation.” 

“I’m really sorry about that, Portia.” Iris said. “I needed to speak with Asra urgently, and privately. I wish I could say more.” 

Portia held up her hands. “It’s me who should apologize. I’m sorry about the scene I caused in your shop yesterday. I was...I was surprised to see Ilya.” 

Iris smiled kindly. “He mentioned he hadn’t seen you since you were little.” 

Her face betrayed her surprise and hurt, but she composed herself quickly, and nodded solemnly. “It’s been years since I’ve seen him...nearly 13, now. We’ve been separated since he left for Prakra to study medicine.”

Iris gaped. “It’s really been 13 years…?” 

Portia nodded fervently this time. “I was nine when he left; he was 19. He was a doting big brother… acting like I was the boss even though I was so much younger than him. I thought he would return home to Nevivon after he finished his studies in Prakra, but he traveled the world. We communicated a little through letters, of course, but I hadn’t seen him before that moment. I...I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my head on straight.” 

Iris furrowed her brow, her features softening with empathy. “Portia, if it was my brother who I hadn’t seen in 13 years, I wouldn’t have behaved with as much composure as you did. Please don’t worry about it.” 

A smile glimmered on Portia’s face. “It was lovely to see him. He’s exactly the same, dramatic as ever.” 

Iris smiled. “It must run in the family.” 

Portia gasped. “Me? Dramatic? Why, Iris, how dare you??” Then she winked, a familiar smile spreading across her face. “I learned from the best, after all.” Iris realized it was exactly the shape as the playful smirk Julian often wore. 

“I didn’t realize you knew Ilya.” Portia continued, her smile melting into uncertainty. “Did you know him before the Countess invited you here?” 

Iris bit her lip, unsure how to answer. Portia clearly didn’t know of her brother’s history with her or with Asra. She felt a feeling like trust spread through her, like fragrance after a candle is lit; she knew Portia would keep the truth close to heart, but Iris still gave her the simplest truth she could. 

“I met him the night before I read for the Countess. I read the cards for him at the Raven.” 

Portia surveyed Iris, giving her a moment to continue. Then, to Iris’s mortification, Portia recited: “What, you can fuck me and draw me in my sleep but you can’t spend the night with me?”

Iris grimaced, blushed. “There’s that, too...” 

Portia jerked her head in the direction of the baths. “Does he know? You were fucking him a few minutes ago, too.” 

Iris was absolutely flabbergasted. “Ye...yes. They both know. It’s fine.” 

Portia considered this, eyebrows raised. “Why didn’t you tell the Countess?” 

Iris bit her lip. “I didn’t know enough yet. Especially if it’s my word that knots the hangman’s noose...but she knows now. I told her yesterday. She...she doesn’t care. She just wants to know the truth, and I think we’re both realizing that the story doesn’t add up, and Julian may not be the culprit.” 

At this, a tear beaded in Portia’s eye, but she wiped it away quickly, tactfully. “If he has people as just as you and the Countess in his corner, I’m sure everything will be all right in the end.” 

Iris smiled; she placed her hand over the small but strong hands folded over Portia’s stomach. “Let’s do everything we can to find the truth, together.” 

Portia flushed, and nodded. Iris’s eyes lit up, and she stood, reaching for one of the blank scrolls on the desk. 

“Julian asked me to give you a message. Here...” She dipped a quill into the inkwell drew a quick, rough sketch of a basket, a leech, and a sweet pea bloom. “If you want to reach him, leave a message with Tilde, the leechmonger in the Southside market. The code word will be sweet pea. He said to use the cipher, that you would know what it means.” She held the paper out to Portia, who took it, tears springing into her eyes.

At this, the door clicked open; Asra returned, freshly bathed, bringing with him the bright, sweet scent of oranges and cinnamon, his curls springy and damp. 

“Thank you for your audience, Iris.” Portia’s tone stiffened; she was clearly uncomfortable in the magician’s presence. Her head swiveled to the window, trying to keep her gaze from accidentally falling on him. “I think I’ll go attend to my garden...if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.” She flashed Iris an appreciative smile before slipping quietly out the door. 

Asra eyed her warily as she exited. He raised his eyebrows at Iris. “Everything okay?” 

Iris nodded. “Girl talk. Nothing to worry about.” 

Asra smiled, an even, unreadable smile, then turned to examine the finery Portia left them. “Nadi really spares no expense.” He held up a pair of delicately embroidered white trousers. They were easily much finer than even the finest things they owned. 

They dressed; Iris in a pair of sky blue patterned harem pants, a cropped white top with short, puffy sleeves, and a tasseled vest that trailed well past her knees; Asra in the white trousers and a long, royal blue shirt with delicate chinoiserie clasps. Iris rubbed the tea-scented cream on the vanity on her face, then dotted her skin with the rosehip oil next to it; Asra wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder while she finished tending to herself. 

“I’m going to check in on the shop. I’ll be back in time for dinner.” He told her, planted a languid kiss on her neck. “I’m going to leave Faust with you, just in case.” Iris felt the sweet familiar slither into her knapsack. 

_Just in case!_ Faust agreed. 

“I’m going to stay here and see what I can uncover.” Iris said. “I still can’t shake the feeling that Julian is not as culpable as Nadia thinks he is.” 

Asra’s brow furrowed with worry. “I understand how you feel, but I would avoid the library today. You went through a lot yesterday. I wouldn’t push it...” 

Iris chewed her lip thoughtfully. “That might make it hard to investigate...” 

Asra kissed her cheek. “Please. Promise me you won’t be reckless.” 

Iris sighed, nodded. “I won’t.” 

Asra was silent for a moment, his lips lingering on her skin. “There’s one more thing...” 

Iris turned to him. Asra pressed his lips together, reticent, uncertain. 

“I know yours and Ilya’s paths will cross again. Be careful with what you reveal to him.” He said finally, his voice low. He was careful not to meet her gaze.

“I won’t tell him anything.” Iris lowered her eyes, gaze falling on her hands, curled uselessly in her lap, like a child. “You will have to be the one who decides how to dance that dance, Asra.” 

Asra rested his forehead against her cheek for a moment, before pulling away. “I’ll be going.” He kissed her on the lips. “Until tonight.” 

He left Iris to her thoughts.

*******

Iris found herself wandering through the forest at the edges of the estate’s southern boundaries. It was teeming with ancient growth and knowledge; though a few rugged paths cut through the underbrush, it was tough going. Iris, in her bare feet, was slowly picking her way through the trees, searching for anything that pulled her closer to the answers she sought.

After Asra left, Iris had been uncertain how to proceed. What she thought she needed was in the library, but she knew Asra was right; it would be tempting fate to return too quickly after what she saw yesterday. Instead, she sat with the few pieces she had taken from the library – Julian’s drawings, letters, and the hand-bound journal. She could feel their gentle pull, and though the power they gave off was faint, it lead her into the gardens, down the path that led her to this overgrown forest grove. 

Faust lifted her head up from Iris’s shoulders, nudging her onward with her scaled snout. The light that escaped through the dense canopy cut through the shadows like swords. Iris felt the energy from the tethers she carried growing stronger; either the place they were leading her to was powerful, or it was leading her straight to Julian. Either way, she thought, answers might not be far behind. 

The forest suddenly gave way to a rolling field; Iris smelled the fresh, clear scent of running water, heard the rushing and gurgling of a stream slipping across stones. A brook, hundreds of yards away, cut through the tall grass. Iris realized she was parched – she sprinted to its banks, only to stop short when it came into view. 

The water was a translucent red, almost as if it were tinged with blood. Iris’s stomach turned; she glanced upstream and saw the palace, perhaps a mile away, its tall spires looming. From a drain near what Iris could only assume were the dungeons, she could see a deep crimson trail weeping down the stonework. 

Iris took a deep breath and closed her eyes. This time, she smelled the rot and decay that seeped up from the soil, heard the mush and seep of the rotting grass around the water’s banks. She opened her eyes again, looked downstream and saw Vesuvia sprawled out, again, in front of her, swirling, chaotic streets, glittering canals, vibrant, lively people. Iris swallowed hard, then broke into a sprint towards the city. 

_Urgent?_ Faust wondered, her spry body bobbing as Iris crashed through the brush, her footing sure, her legs solid. It was as if Iris’s feet were possessed; she needed to know if this water ran into the city. If the water was poisoning the plants – 

Iris gasped as she staggered to a halt, her skin prickling with heat as if the desert sun was burning, boring into her; the scene warped in front of her eyes and she was buffeted backwards, a bird on the wind. 

_It was sweltering hot, and Iris was sweating through her clothes, but her arms were wrapped tightly around the solid body in front of her, her cheek against a strong back, swathed in blistering leather. They were on horseback, cantering down a drought-cracked path, the ochre brown of sunburnt foliage flying past – Iris hardly got her bearings before they slowed to a stop. _

_A set of sturdy hands reached out for hers, and she took them, letting them swing her down; whoever it was, dressed in the plain, rough canvas clothes of farmers, they were gentle, careful to set her down on even ground so she didn’t teeter on her wobbly legs, her sturdily booted feet. _

_There was heavy, graceful thud beside her, and Julian, dressed in tall boots, leather pants, a leather riding jacket, appeared in the corner of her vision. She only knew it was him because of his height – he was wearing his beaked plague doctor’s mask, his voice muffled behind a balaclava as he handed off the reins. Iris was wearing a mask, too, she realized, her nose full of orange peel, sage and rosemary, and her clothes were suffocating, a leather shrug around her shoulders, thick white dress with thick new-world embroidery in inky black, gloves over hands absolutely slick with sweat. _

_Julian may have smiled at her under his mask, may have winked at her comfortingly, forgetting, but Iris would have never known – his broad hand fell on her waist and gently steered her away from where another horse was slowly rearing to a stop, the elegantly clad figure astride it swinging down with the same ease as stepping into a bath. _

_Iris could only see Nadia’s eyes under her black headwrap, piercing and perceptive – her riding clothes were of soft fawn brown suede, structured and textured, the jacket clasped together with jeweled black velvet. Her heeled boots crunched on the cracked scrub grass as she, without a word, approached the farmers gathered there, huddled, dazzled, her ring outstretched. _

_The eldest sprang forward and dropped to his knees, kissing her ring as two burly bodyguards sprang down from their own mounts, one tall, the other stocky – Bludmila and Ludovico. Nadia’s eyes crinkled indulgently at her subjects. “Please, it is my pleasure. Thank you for letting us examine your crops.” _

_“It – it’s an honor, Milady.” The farmer stammered, his country accent thick. “Please...this way.” _

_Then, they were being lead through the long rows of trees, and Iris finally recognized where they were – the groves to the north, where the realm’s main export was cultivated – Vesuvian cinnamon. The gnarled trees were normally braided and fragrant, the color of rooibos tea, their leaves an enchanting, terrifying green, but the dry, the drought, had sapped them of all color, now withered and dusty brown. The bark itself was somehow soft, spongy, but deep and dark, almost black, and the further in to the grove, the worse it got, until the stench of rot and disease infiltrated even Iris’s beaked plague mask. _

_The farmer turned, gesturing to the grove around him. “This is the worst of it. I don’t even know if any of the bark is salvageable.” Nadia leaned towards the closest tree, and, with a glint of her eyes, decision made, she snapped off her black gloves and pressed a dark finger into the spotted wood. It oozed red, like blood, and Iris felt nauseated – it was then that she saw the skittering. _

_Two blood-bright beetles tunneled up out of the spongy wood, the moistness of the bark foaming up around their mandibles like the froth on freshly poured wine. Nadia jumped back as Julian leapt forward, his arms outstretched in front of both Nadia and Iris as he leaned forward to examine the beetles. _

_“Have you seen these beetles before?” He demanded of the farmer, his normally gentle voice uncharacteristically sharp. _

_The farmer’s eyes flew wide. “They’ve been in the wood for almost a year. We appealed to the Count when they first appeared, Milady.” He turned to Nadia, his eyes imploring. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Nothing we do can rid us of them. We’ve tried everything we know.” _

_Julian straightened, reaching into his coat and turning to Nadia. “We need Nazali.” He told her, his voice dark as he withdrew a small specimen jar, a set of long tweezers. He skillfully plucked the two from the tree and deftly bottled them away safely; he turned to Iris now, holding out the jar for her to examine, her brows furrowed. The beetle’s carapaces clattered as if they were made of metal, shimmering like precious stones. _

_“We found these on the battlefields where the plague was first encountered.” Julian muttered, before turning back to Nadia. “But I was too green. I didn’t work on that research – I only know what I read secondhand. Nazali will know more. They’re the leading expert.” _

_“No.” Nadia said pointedly, taking the specimen jar from Julian. “Good farmer, to whom do you normally sell your cinnamon?” _

_The farmer blanched. “We haven’t been able to sell much, Milady, since the plague hit. But even some of the nastier stuff can go to the distillers.” _

_Nadia inhaled sharply. “The oils.” _

_“The bathhouses?” Iris practically gasped. “This cinnamon is going in Vesuvia’s bathing waters?” _

_Nadia turned to the farmer, her eyes fierce. “I am sorry for this, but I cannot permit you to sell your crops until we know more. You and your family will be compensated until we can pinpoint the source of this.” She straightened, her eyes still trained on the beetles in the jar, her eyes the same color. “This has been very enlightening, thank you.” _

_“Countess, Milady, wait –” The farmer cried, but she was already striding away. Quickly, Iris scraped some of the bark and the wood into another specimen jar as Julian thanked the farmer, then they bounded after her, her stomping stride rushed, almost frantic. _

_Iris caught up to her as she took the reins of her black Friesian and swung her leg up gracefully, snapping the reins without a word; she took off in a gallop that made Iris’s head spin, her head throb. _

_“Iris!” Julian shouted, mounting his own horse, reaching out to her – he pulled her easily into his arms, her back pressed into his chest as he guided the horse into a gallop, the two bodyguards tailing the three of them. _

_Nadia’s horse was one of the fastest in the stables, and Iris feared that they would lose her, adrenaline pounding in her veins, but Julian’s stallion bounded behind them, staying just in sight; then suddenly, Nadia, slowed to a halt and dismounted. Julian pulled back on the reins, one hand wound around Iris’s waist as the horse reared slightly, turning, protesting. Nadia was running, out into the crackling wheat, long-since singed by the drought, until Iris and Julian could barely see her, her coiled tyrian hair billowing as she ripped the headwrap from her head. _

_She stood ramrod straight, the dry, dusty wind whipping around her – and then she screamed, her fingers threaded through her hair, clutching at her temples. _

_“Nadi!” Iris shrieked, not even waiting for Bludmila or Ludovico before she dismounted, stumbling to her knees, soiling her dress with the swirling dust, and rushing after her friend, who’d sank, invisible, into the cracked wheat. When Iris found Nadia, she was shaking, her chest heaving, eyes glittering, her hands still clutched in her hair. _

_“He knew...” Nadia murmured, disbelieving. “All this time, he knew...and he did nothing...” _

_“We can’t change the past, Nadi.” Iris cooed softly, leaning into the trembling Countess, her cheek pressed against her friend’s. “We can only control what we do moving forward.” _

_“We must stop this madness.” Nadi hissed, her eyes suddenly fierce. “Now.” A set of gloved hands fell, one on Nadia’s shoulder, one on Iris’s, as Julian caught up to them, huffing, out of breath – he had ripped his mask away, his cheeks flushed. _

_“Then we need Nazali, Nadia.” He panted. “You could summon them. They’d come in a heartbeat.” _

_Nadia’s eyes sharpened again. “No. No, I must do this on my own.” _

_“Nadi...” Iris murmured. “That’s not...you can’t –”_

_Nadia stood pointedly. “Ilya, I trust that you will bring these specimens to the Quaestor and get to work on pinpointing the source of the plague, and how it is spread. Iris – come with me. There is much to be done.” She turned on her heel and strode away from them, the finality in her voice icy, leaving the two of them gaping at each other, mouths wide, brows furrowed. It was Julian who stood, his expression soft, defeated; with a quiet sigh, he extended a hand to Iris, his eyes darker, sadder than Iris had ever seen them..._

Iris came to, and found her self running again, panting even as she quivered in the chilly, waning light. The vast open field quickly gave way to a craggy cliffside where the stream flowed into a wide lemonstone aqueduct. Iris slowed her run to a halt, her hands reaching into her knapsack to close around Julian’s journal; she felt a powerful surge of energy, like relief. 

Suddenly, Faust’s head swung up, just as a caw echoed above her and Iris. A raven circled them, before descending sharply; Faust swung out of the way just in time as he landed with an indignant croak on Iris’s shoulder. He jabbed his beak into the collar of Iris’s fine vest, nibbling at the threads. 

“Hello, friend?” Iris cooed, reaching her hand up to him slowly. Iris recognized him; it was Malak, Dara’s raven who stood guard at the inn. His feathers were ruffled as if on high alert, but Iris didn’t want him to fly away. She glanced out at the city streets just below her; she saw it was the Southside, where the Raven was housed. 

Just as she was about touch him, he sprung from her shoulder with a loud cry, spiraling up away from the aqueduct towards the city. With sure footing, Iris climbed up the steps onto the lip of the channel and walked along the water’s edge, following Malak’s arced path. 

The water widened and deepened as she drew closer to the city and the aqueduct leveled; wooden structures began to spring up as the craggy cliffside gave way to the city’s outskirts. Eventually, Iris was surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds of the city’s underbelly of which she was fond. She realized she must have been walking for a long time through the wilderness; the sky above her was dark and dotted with stars. It must be nearly dinner time; Asra and Nadia would be waiting for her.

Iris looked down, and she could still see the red-tinged water in the aqueduct below her; she was now suspended on wooden walkways that elevated the shop doors and pedestrians from the rushing water below them. Suddenly, the tethers in her knapsack sprung to life, as if the strings that connected them to their charge were pulled. Iris looked up just as she heard her name cut through the dusk. 

“Iris?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _MOC: *fans self* I gave myself the vapors, damn. See you in The Lovers, part 2._


	2. The Lovers, Part 2: Everybody Leaves If They Get the Chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Bat for Lashes - I'm on Fire (Bruce Springsteen cover) **
> 
> _ CW: Some blood and medical gore _

Iris snapped to attention, her head whipping towards the alley from which the voice emerged. Her heart pounded in her chest; she thought the veins in her wrists would burst, how quickly her pulse was jumping – she would know that voice anywhere, now, and it sent both a heat and a chill through her, a fierceness, a tenderness, a mysterious ache she couldn’t quite name. 

A figure slowly materialized in the dim light of a nearby lantern; it was Julian, a shadow slicing across his sharp features, illuminating his shock. Even in the dark, Iris was overwhelmed by how handsome he was, auburn hair glinting in the moonlight, his piercing gray gaze. Quickly, his expression remolded, brows arched, eyes dancing with amusement. 

“Fancy seeing you here, hm?” 

“I...” Iris stammered. She didn’t have a good explanation for her being there without revealing that she was carrying his things, his tethers, searching for him. She quickly glanced back at the aqueduct; Julian’s quick eyes flitted to the water, following Iris’s gaze. 

He approached the reflecting pool’s edge tentatively; Iris noticed the red of his coat out of the corner of her eye, refracted in the deep waters, the crimson of the reflection deepening the bloody tinge in the water. She also saw his brow furrow, his eyes deepen, searching deep in the water. Iris’s heart jumped to her throat, and she reached out and grabbed Julian’s shoulder. 

“Don’t stand so close, Julian.” She implored, her voice strained, sharpness, heat, stinging her throat, which she swallowed down, fighting away the burn of panic. Julian stared back at her, eye wide, perplexed at her concern. 

“This water won’t hurt anyone. It’s been like this for years, since even before the plague. It certainly won’t do anything to me.” His expression melted, forlorn, and he gazed up at the stars, the waxing moon. “It’s a miracle, isn’t it? The plague is gone – no cases in years, no deaths. Everyone in Vesuvia...everyone left...they found a way to survive. They found a way to move on.” 

He looked down at his gloved hands, now awash in the moonlight, and Iris felt a fresh wave of hopelessness course through her. “I’m not sure what I thought I would find here.” He murmured, voice low and lost.

Iris bit her lip, the strangeness that swelled in her overwhelming. She couldn’t smell liquor on his breath...at least, not any more than there normally was, but his face, his eye dark, his brows bowed...her grip on his shoulder softened, and she gently traced the seam of his jacket with her thumb, uncertain what to say. Together, the two of them stared down at the shimmering surface of the water. 

Suddenly, Malak swooped down with a ragged screech, nearly flying into Julian’s chest in his frenzy. He beat his wings in front of the shocked doctor’s face and let out another piercing caw. Julian snapped to attention and wheeled to Iris, that mischievous smirk plastered across his face. 

“Look lively, Iris; we’ve got company.” He held out his hand to her, and she grabbed it without hesitation; together, they ran across the slippery wooden bridge that spanned the aqueduct to the other side of the street, where Julian zagged quickly down a set of stone stairs to the aqueduct’s very edge, hopping onto its lip with one limber step. He reached down and lifted Iris up gracefully, planting her sturdily on the slippery stones behind him. 

“Careful now. No midnight swims.” He joked, turning back to Iris as they ran down the narrow, slick path, never letting go of her hand. The screech of metal, the creak of leather, deep voices shouting, urgent – Julian stopped cold, his neck swiveling wildly as he listened for the clamor of armor above them. Iris ran headlong into him and felt her bare feet slip out from under her; with a yelp, she plunged backwards into the reservoir. 

She was swallowed by freezing cold water, the impact knocking the air out of her lungs. For a moment, she was simply stunned as she sank into the shadowy mire, every muscle frozen with fear – then, she sprang to life, her instincts firing, hot and wild. She fluttered her legs into a practiced kick stroke and located the wavering eye of light above her; she began to swim towards that eye, clawing through the dark that threatened to swallow her whole. 

Then, something sleek and ice-cold slid against her, and she jolted, shocked. The creature, with a fearsome shriek that Iris heard with her entire body, locked its considerable jaw around her side – her nerves sizzled with a pain unlike anything Iris could remember. 

A strong hand plunged into the water and grabbed her wrist, hoisting her easily out of the reservoir. Iris looked up to see Julian’s face, eye wide, sharp cheekbones flushed with concern. Nimble Faust was on his shoulder; she must have clung to him as Iris fell. Julian’s eyes fell onto the long, flailing eel, its sharp fangs still nestled into Iris’s side. It was sickly pale, translucent, with carmine-red eyes; Julian and Iris could both see her blood moving through its innards as it fed. Iris felt sick, the pain sharp, her resolve weak.

Julian wasted no time. “On the count of three. One. Two-” With a practiced motion, he roughly pinched the vampire eel behind its head, forcing its mouth open, releasing Iris, who cringed and yelped with pain. He tossed it back into the aqueduct, then lifted Iris the rest of the way out of the water, onto the safety of solid ground. 

“Easy now. I’ve got you.” He murmured, looping his arm around her waist as she slumped into him, gasping, her vision spinning. He couldn’t keep the concern, the streak of panic out of his voice. “We have to keep moving. It’s not safe here.” 

Julian half-dragged Iris into a run; she could feel the blood leeching from her side, soaking the fine clothes Nadia commissioned for her. Julian ducked them into a dark alley just off of the aqueduct’s channel between the foundations of the wooden buildings above; it was damp with condensation, the stones mossy, neglected. 

Iris was shaking now, and dizzy; she collapsed onto the ground and retched. Julian stepped out of the alleyway and surveyed their surroundings. 

“It isn’t ideal, but we have to treat you now. Let me see that bite.” Iris didn’t even have her wits about her to nod; her voice swam in her throat, unable to form words – she could only moan in pain. 

“I’ll have to take that as a yes.” Julian unclasped his cloak and laid it down on the ground, then gently lifted Iris onto it, laying her on her back. He prised opened the long vest buttoned over her chest and slid her blouse up and away from the oozing wound.

“Damn.” He said softly. With a look of grim determination, he peeled off his gloves. “This may sting at first.” He warned, before placing one hand, cold as Death, directly over Iris’s open wound. Iris arched her back and nearly cried out, but he shushed her gently, his other hand finding its way to the back of her head, cradling it, protecting it from the stone ground below. 

“I know it hurts, but hold still. Sync your breath with mine.” He breathed in and out audibly, slowly, seven counts in, seven counts out, just like Asra had taught Iris long, long ago, a sharp but distant memory. Iris focused on the sound, mimicking him; she hardly noticed the soft glow of white that emanated from her, no, from Julian’s hands as the pain slowly seeped out of her. Iris felt herself relaxing, her breath deepening on its own. 

“We have to stop meeting like this.” She muttered, her eyelids fluttering. Julian chuckled. 

“Yes...it seems like every time we meet you get hurt.” Julian mused quietly, placing the back of his cool hand on her forehead, checking her temperature, but his touch lingered there.

Iris furrowed her eyebrows. “When you say it like that, it sounds so sad.” 

Julian didn’t respond to this. “If you’re well enough to chat, you’re well enough to sit.” He wrapped his arm around Iris’s shoulders and placed his other hand on her chest, helping her to sit up. Their faces were very close now – Iris could see the tiny freckles that dotted Julian’s nose and cheeks, count each auburn eyelash. Her eyes traveled down to his throat, where a small, white sigil on his Adam’s apple glinted in the dim light of the alley. 

Julian felt Iris’s stare, and touched his throat, a dark smile snaking across his face. “Do you recognize your master’s signature?” His features contorted into a wince, and he grabbed at his side; Iris saw the fresh blood blossoming under his shirt, soaking his fingers. “This was his parting gift to me.” 

Instincts firing, Iris leaned in to help him, but Julian held a dripping hand up to her, smile wry. “I’m able to absorb the wounds of others, but I have to experience them for myself. A gift, and a curse. Every doctor’s heart’s desire...” He swayed forward a little; Iris grabbed his shoulders, steadying him. She felt panic beginning to claw at her throat, and Julian sensed her unease.

“Don’t worry...it won’t last. It never does. Then again, I’ve never been bitten by a vampire eel, so this might get interesting.” His eyes danced a little, despite the pain streaking through his features.

Iris rested her forehead against his; her heart felt like it could burst. “Thank you.” 

He blushed deeply, looking away from her. “No need.” 

A shout rang through the still night: the guards. Julian grabbed Iris’s wrists and pulled her up, ushering her swiftly into an extremely narrow adjacent alley. He threw on his cape and pressed his body against hers, the dark cloak obscuring them both as Iris heard the guards rushing by. 

She could smell his rich scent mingled with the iron of his blood, feel the quaking of his body, see the pain painted on his face. He felt her gaze on him, and their eyes met; for a moment, they stared into each other, nearly forgetting everything that had come before. 

A sound from the entrance of the alley shook them out of their reverie. Julian interlaced his fingers with Iris’s and tugged her through the narrow alley, which deposited them into a dimly-lit side street. Julian broke into a run, with Iris sprinting to keep up with his long stride. He wove easily through twisting alleys, knew every wobbly cobblestone, every low sign to duck under; it was clear to Iris that this was not his first time escaping through these forgotten streets. 

He stopped abruptly, and wheeled around towards Iris, lacing his long fingers together to form a step, gesturing with his chin to the small, dark window above. Without hesitation, Iris stepped into his hand and he hoisted her up; she clambered over the windowsill, somewhat clumsily. With a graceful hop, he grabbed the sill and heaved himself up after her. 

As she caught her breath, Iris surveyed the humble home around them; whitewashed walls, covered in shelves for dusty bottles, herbs upon herbs upon herbs hung from the ceiling, drying. There was no fire in the hearth – the air was cold and damp. It had been empty for some time, at least for most of the day. 

“Julian, where are we?” 

“A friend’s. She must be out.” He grinned at Iris. “A wicked card player, will make you eat until you’re sick, asks incessantly when you’ll have children. You’d like her.” He strode over to the fireplace, searching the mantle for a matchbook, but Iris snapped her fingers, lighting the fire without thinking. 

He chuckled, looked up and back at her; even though his eyes were playful, she could see his smile was weary. 

“Show me.” Iris commanded; she lowered herself onto her knees next to Julian as the fire crackled.  
Julian blushed, but unfastened his cloak and deftly unbuttoned his waistcoat, pulling both off at the same time. He stood and hung them on a hook nearby; his white shirt was absolutely soaked with his blood, making Iris’s stomach churn, her instincts scream. He sank down onto the stool by the hearth and lifted the hem of his shirt, turning to Iris so she could see. 

“What do you think, doctor?” He teased. 

The pale skin was as smooth and taut as ever, with no bruising, no scarring. Eyes wide, Iris reached out tentatively and touched his side, her fingertips tracing the swells and valleys of his stomach, as if it were an illusion. 

“That is a fearsome magic.” Iris whispered, in awe. 

“It’s your master’s...it shouldn’t be that much of a surprise to you.” Julian simpered, his smirk wide, and lowered his shirt. 

Iris furrowed her brows, pursing her lips in thought. There was much she didn’t know and much she didn’t remember, but a voice in her heart told her that this was not Asra’s doing. She felt something against her wrist; it was Faust, coiling up her wrist and arm, her red eyes unblinking. Iris had completely forgotten she was with them. Certainty flooded the young magician. 

“I’ve never seen Asra hex anyone, let alone curse them like this. This can’t be his doing.”

“There’s a lot about your master that you don’t know.” Julian said darkly, before wincing, leaning heavily on his elbow. 

“You need rest.” Iris’s eyes darted around the large room and landed on a green curtain not far from the hearth. She sprang up to examine what was behind it; as she expected, it was a bed, with an ancient-looking down mattress, covered in hand-sewn quilts. 

“Get in.” She ordered Julian, pulling the curtains open. “I’ll see if I can’t scrounge something up.” He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then his eyes fell on the bed. Without protest, he closed the curtain behind him; Iris heard the soft whump of his body hitting the down. 

Iris stroked Faust, who was now coiled around her shoulders, oddly tense. “Faust, can you speak with Asra? I don’t want him to worry, but I’m staying with Julian. I want to make sure he’s safe.” 

Faust’s red eyes flickered, then went dark for a moment. She returned quickly with a message. _Be careful…stay safe...I’ll distract the Countess..._

Iris hugged Faust to her, feeling Asra’s warmth through the channel of the familiar’s small, muscled body. She felt relief, appreciation, swell over her. “Thank you, Asra. I will.” She whispered, tenderly kissing the top Faust’s head.

She turned her attention to the kitchen; if her intuition was correct, what she needed would be here. She let her nose guide her through the herbs until she found what she needed – yarrow, ancient motherwort, fresh sprouted alfalfa, and a potent brandy that singed her nostrils and throat. She found an ancient-looking pot that nearly hummed with power, which she placed on the hearth. She poured in the brandy and scattered in a handful of each of the herbs, and left the mixture to simmer. 

Then, she rummaged around the pantry and found some decent-looking root vegetables and aromatics – onions, carrots, potatoes, celery, and turnips. These she chopped roughly with her magic and dropped them into a larger pot with clean water from the spout and a handful of seasoning herbs and salt, which she set on the fire also. There was a loaf of hearty brown bread on the counter, which Iris tried, nibbling on a corner she broke off. As she expected, it was stale; she threw the bread into the stew also. 

After some time, she removed the tincture from the fire and strained the small mixture into a clean bottle; she wasn’t able to find a dropper, but she carefully tapped a drop into a mug of dandelion tea. She checked on the stew; it was humble, but hearty – it would do. She magicked a small amount into a chipped bowl and grabbed the tea, opening the curtain quietly. 

Julian lay sprawled on the mattress; he had removed his long leather boots and his bloodied shirt, which were tossed in a heap on the floor. His breathing was shallow, a long arm dramatically thrown over his head. He opened his good eye when he heard the grate of the rings. 

“What did you bring me, little kitchen witch?” He murmured, a grin spreading across his face. 

“Don’t get too excited; I did what I could. I brewed a tea with a tincture that should help if you have any lingering internal bleeding. And I made us some dinner.” She set the stew down on a spindly wooden bedside table, and crawled onto the bed next to Julian with the mug; she lifted it to his lips, and he tentatively sipped, before scrunching up his eyes, his mouth puckering. 

“That’s not great.”

Iris raised her eyebrows. “Doctor’s orders.” 

Julian rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouths turned up into a small smile; he sat up and took the mug from Iris, draining it with a few gulps. He reached for the food, but Iris grabbed his hand. 

“I have to ask you something first.” 

Julian let out a barking laugh. “It’s always this question game with you.” 

Iris felt her heart pounding in her chest as she met his eyes – it was all she could do to choke back her tears. “Did you do it?” She whispered – not the question she wanted to ask, she realized, but how, how could she ask the one in her heart, the one coiled around it like a noose. Her gaze rolled softly over him, imploring him. 

Julian’s eyes widened in surprise, but she knew she didn’t have to explain; her hand lingered over the magical brand, the three swords through the heart, irreversible on his skin. Then he sighed, and closed his eyes, before pointing his gaze to the ceiling. “If I told you the truth, would you even believe me? I know I wouldn’t.” 

“Julian…you know I’m clairvoyant. I know when you’re lying. Which you hardly do, at least to me...”

Julian considered this, touching a knuckle to his lips. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. 

“I don’t remember.” He said finally, his voice soft and low. “I’m missing...I’m missing a lot of memories from that time. I remember running into Lucio’s bedchambers while they were up in flames. That’s it.” 

His eye swiveled up to meet hers. His gaze was pained; Iris didn’t need her clairvoyance to see he was telling the truth. She bit her lip, and thought through her response carefully.

“I’m missing memories, too. You know this.” She tilted her head, regarding him. “And I know it’s painful to not know...not know what kind of person you were. What you did. Who you hurt...and who hurt you.” 

Julian touched Iris’s face gently, his eyes full of longing. “It...it’s hard not knowing who you might have loved, either.” 

Iris felt a pang of empathy, of wanting, for the tormented man in front of her. She leaned in and kissed him, placing her hands on his chest, her fingers running through the fine hair she found there. He kissed her back, his hand on her chin; he wrapped his other arm around her and leaned back, gently, until Iris was laying on top of him. She opened her mouth and reached into him, their tongues caressing each other. Her hand touched his healing side, but she pulled away as if shocked. 

“It’s okay.” He murmured, voice low and warm. “It hurts as much as yours does.” He ran his hand, softly, down her side, and Iris realized that she was still wearing her bloody clothes, that she felt no pain under his touch. As if he read her mind, his hands skimmed up to her shoulders and removed her vest; she pulled her blouse up over her shoulders, letting it slip from her fingers onto the floor with Julian’s bloodied clothes. Julian’s eyes danced across her body, and she felt him stir under her. He pulled her back into his embrace – the skin of his chest felt cool, comforting, against hers. 

They kissed like this for a very long time; Julian running his hands up and down the seam of her back, exploring every inch of skin available to him, Iris touching his hair, his face, his neck, his chest. They moved together without thinking, their movements fluid, practiced, skillful – when Iris’s fingertips grazed Julian’s neck, he arched sinuously, the flexuous muscles taut as he groaned, and when Julian threaded his finger through her short hair, she let her fingernails drag down the slope of his shoulders, the firm of his arms. When Julian’s hands finally grazed Iris’s breast, she was full and aching with desire; even that gentle touch made her sigh, and when Julian bent down and kissed her, guiding the nipple into his mouth, she moaned. 

He kissed and suckled the aroused skin sweetly, his eye flitting up to meet hers, to savor her reactions, to watch her lips part around little gasps, her cheeks pinking. He licked a finger and traced her other nipple to match the languid movements of his tongue. Iris flung her head back and closed her eyes – she relaxed under his touch, his attentions. 

He wrapped his arms around her and spun her over in the bed so he was on top of her; for a moment, their eyes met, their gazes heavy, tender, before Julian slipped his hand down the waistband of her pants and touched the slick, velvety skin between her legs. 

Iris arched her back and let out a small cry, grasping for his erection, pulling down his pants so she could touch him – once she found him, wrapping her palm around his shaft, Julian kissed her again, their tongues swirling.

They touched each other, slowly, delicately – Iris pulled him closer to her, gripping into his shoulder, and Julian kissed Iris’s neck, the hollow of her clavicle, the soft mounds of her shoulders, the fleshy place between the swell of her breasts and the collarbone, all while pulling her pants down from her hips with his free hand. With each kiss, Iris’s heart flooded; when he sat up to pull her pants off from around her ankles, to kick off his own pants, she pressed her wetness against him and pulled her knees back, readying herself for him, inviting him in to her, her cheeks and chest flushed the same dusky color as her sex. 

“We need a condom.” He muttered, his ardent gaze roving over her body laid out before him, his breath catching. 

Iris reached up and touched his lips with one finger, quieting him, the tiniest smile in her eyes. “Let me...” She knew Asra’s protection spell; she had performed it many times. She trailed her hand down to Julian’s broad chest, and there was a soft flash of purple light. 

“...Are you sure?” He asked, his lips parted, leaning in towards her. Iris counted again the tiny constellations of freckles that dotted his nose, his cheeks, his chin, named every single streak of gray in his eye, remembered, with a pang of regret, the anguish she had once seen there, the pain.

“Yes, darling.” She said, and guided him into her with a slow roll of her hips. 

He gasped and quivered, overwhelmed with the raw feeling of her, before grasping her knees and gently rocking his hips against hers, making Iris hum with pleasure at the sweet pressure of him inside her. This was the rhythm of their lovemaking, slow and steady, like a boat out at sea on a calm night, a sleeping heartbeat. Iris threw her hands over her head and they locked eyes, their mouths open, needful, gasping, their voices harmonizing in the night. 

It was impossible to tell how long they moved together in that little bed, the quilts rumpled under Iris, the rusting springs and old wood creaking with every flex of Julian’s back. There was nothing, nothing other than the way the looked at each other, the way they moved together, the slowly rising heat between them as they made love. It was exquisite, the skilled, even way Julian rocked into Iris, the way she met him with tiny rolls of her hips, but it wasn’t enough, Iris could feel the pressure building and building and building, but she never crashed over – when she could bear it no longer, she reached down to touch herself as Julian thrust into her. 

“Oh Gods, Iris, yes...” He groaned, watching her please herself, his flush darkening, deepening; in a few minutes, she was seizing around him, whimpering, her vision blotting away everything that wasn’t Julian’s eye trained on her, absolutely enraptured – the shape of her mouth as she gasped, the arch of her back, shake of her legs as she came, powerfully, earth-shatteringly, with a series of loud, choked cries. And Julian, poor Julian was no match for the way Iris’s whole body seemed to wrap him in her warmth, for the way she met his gaze, her eyes so bright with bliss as he worked her through her orgasm. He could take no more – he threw his head back, whined quietly through bitten lips, and came deep inside her, his hips stilling. 

They collapsed together into the bed, their limbs tangled, panting and gasping. Julian laid his head down on Iris’s chest and listened to her heart race while his breath steadied; Iris wrapped her arms around him, her lips finding his unruly, sex-mussed hair. She breathed in the heady scent of him, rum and leather, musk, amplified now from their lovemaking. Together, they were still. 

“You have a question.” She murmured quietly through his hair after a few minutes. Julian traced the rise of her collarbone with a feathery touch. He was silent a moment.

“What have you been doing at the Countess’s palace?” He asked, finally meeting her eyes. 

Iris sighed, ruffling his hair. It was time to come clean. “She asked me to help her find the truth about Count Lucio’s murder. She thought you were responsible, but...” Iris hesitated. “Now, she’s not so sure. I’m not so sure.” 

“Were you looking for me today, then? How do you keep finding me?” Julian asked, sitting up on his elbow, his hand in his hair, his sharp jawline and sloping, muscled neck on full display. 

“Your things. Personal affects are often tethered to their owners – clairvoyants, magicians, can feel those tethers, especially if the tethers are strong. I used them to find you.” Iris explained. Julian grinned, eye glinting mischievously.

“That’s a neat party trick. You’ll have to teach me some time.” He buried his face into her neck, but she smacked his shoulder lightly. 

“It worked out well for you, it seems.” 

His eye softened, pained. “I...I would prefer that you didn’t get hurt. I should have been more careful.” 

“It all turned out all right in the end.” Iris cooed. “And I got to see you.” Pain dawned in her – she realized that since she had seen those memories yesterday, she had been desperate to find him, to hold him, just as she had rushed to find Asra. 

At her words, he relaxed, and nestled closer to her. They were silent, peaceful, for a few more moments. This time, it was Julian who spoke. “I imagine you want to wash up….I could draw you a bath, if you wanted.” 

Iris breathed a sigh of relief. Though the blood had been magicked off her body, she could still feel its slickness, its heaviness, on her skin, now mingling with her sweat and their sex; this, and Julian’s release was slowly seeping out of her. “That would be lovely.” 

Julian rose from the bed and disappeared; Iris closed her eyes, heard the clanking of metal, the rush of water from the modest spout in the kitchen. There was nothing but the sound of water for many, many minutes, and then Julian returned with a large washtub full of warm water, clothing and towels thrown over his shoulders. He placed the washtub at the foot of the bed. 

Iris crawled to the edge of the bed and dipped her foot into the water. It was soothingly warm, not too hot; she could even smell orange and cinnamon. Julian must have known where their host kept her bathing oils. 

“I hope the temperature’s okay…” He fussed. Iris slowly sank her whole body into the water with a groan. 

“Shut up, Julian. It’s perfect.” 

His eyes warmed. “I’ll give you some privacy.” He left her to wash up. She scrubbed her skin with the rough cloth he brought her, the heat and oils sinking into her skin, and rinsed her hair – she then soaked until the water was too cool for her to stand. She rose out of the water and, with difficulty, picked up the basin – Julian had made it look as if it was a child’s plaything. She hoisted the water out of the window, and heard it splash into the wild garden below. 

A warmth rushed over her as a memory returned – _she was doing exactly this, exactly here, but it was morning, and a shiver ran up Iris’s spine – the dawn air was chilly, the floorboards beneath her frigid. It was the dead of winter, and a frighteningly chill one at that. _

_She reached for her dress on the bed – an elegant patchwork of warm, thick muslin, florals all of the same indigo color, the same as her eyes, with a high Victorian neckline. She heard murmurings in the kitchen on the other side of the curtain – she recognized the hushed tenor of Julian’s voice, but the other voice, an older woman’s, was unfamiliar. _

_“Ilja, ovo je ludilo. Iris – gotovo je s kožom i kostima. Oni vas rade do smrti u toj palači.” The woman fussed. There was a rustling, a heavy sigh. _

_“Nemamo mnogo izbora, Maz. Raditi ili umrijeti od kuge.” Julian muttered. Iris slipped the thick dress over her head, and tuned out the rest of the conversation. She sat down to tie on her leather boots, braid back her long hair. She created a mirror on the wall and glanced at her appearance; she was shocked to find her cheekbones protruding, her skin sallow. Her long hair, once lustrous, looked lank. She was exhausted, sickly. The mirror dematerialized and Iris pulled open the curtain. _

_Julian sat at the table with a squat old woman, her skin spotted with age, her wispy white hair pulled back into a tight bun with a babushka. Iris could see that she was once beautiful, and the way she looked at Julian – she imagined that they were family, or something like it. The table was set with black coffee, pumpkin bread, and some sliced fruit – one setting was untouched, left for Iris._

_Julian looked up at Iris and his emotions played quickly across his face – devotion, desire, but also worry. He didn’t look particularly well, either – the purple bags under his eyes were especially pronounced, and his hands shook noticeably as he sipped from his coffee. _

_“You look like a dream.” He complimented her, his eyes glowing at the sight of her; he gestured to the absent place at the table. He was and wasn’t lying, her clairvoyance told her. Her stomach turned at the sight of the food on the table; she shook her head, swallowing back bile. _

_“Nonsense. You have to eat, Iris.” The old woman tutted. She shot a disapproving glance at Julian. _

_Hesitantly, Iris sat down, and nibbled on the corner of the pumpkin bread she loved so much; it tasted like ashes in her mouth. _

_“Thank you so much again for the quick order of cohosh and blue tansy oil, Mazelinka.” Iris said between bites. “They will be key to a new herbal treatment we’re trying for the plague.” _

_Mazelinka nodded, waving a hand absently in Iris’s direction. “Its nothing, duša moja. I hope it will get you two closer to the cure, so you can rest. And then make some babies! I’m not getting any younger, you know.” _

_Julian chuckled, but Iris bit her lip, trying and failing to suppress the coughing fit that silenced all three of them. _

Cold washed over her, and her skin rose into goosebumps. “Iris,” an even voice called to her, quietly. Her gaze rose to Julian, who was leaning against the doorframe, still naked, eating from a bowl of the stew Iris made. His brow was arched, his visible eye sharp with worry. 

Iris gripped the washbasin in her hands. “Oh, Julian, I’m sorry...I didn’t even ask you if you wanted a bath, too.” 

“I don’t.” He set the food down and tentatively put a hand on her bare shoulder, thumb tracing the line of her collarbone. “But you’ve been staring out that window for minutes now. That’s the first time you responded to me.” 

“I...” 

“You regained a memory. Like you did in the garden.” 

Iris looked up, startled, regarding Julian with wide eyes. 

He pursed his lips together, faced lined in his seriousness. “I’ve found some myself. Small things, whispers mostly, but...” His gaze softened. “I know that trance-like state all too well. What did you see?” 

Iris pursed her lips. “I want to tell you, but I...it was a shared memory. It could...it could do more damage than good.” She turned to him, her smile small and sad. “My memories are starting to return, Julian. Slowly and surely. Soon they’ll come back to you, too.” Iris wasn’t sure if this was true, considering Asra’s spell, but her intuition whispered to her that it had to be possible.

Julian pursed his lips and considered this. “The brain is a mysterious thing.” He hesitated for a moment, his mouth open, then asked, “Was it a good memory, at least?” 

Iris paused. “...It was bittersweet.” 

“Ah, well...” He ran his hand through his hair, shoulders bowing. 

Iris placed her hand on his chest, over his heart. “It’s late. I should be getting back.” 

He wrapped his hand over hers. “You still shouldn’t travel. You should be fine in the morning; I’ll escort you back to the palace as far as I can.” 

Iris raised her eyebrows, looking at him through her long eyelashes. “That’s odd. I thought you’d be happy to be rid of me. You’ve avoided staying the night with me like your life depended on it.” 

Julian chuckled, and scooped her into his arms. “I wouldn’t ignore your doctor’s advice, if I were you.” 

He fell into bed with her; she let out a small shriek, then laughed, which made Julian laugh, too. He peppered her neck and shoulders with kisses while holding her in his arms, then rolled over onto his side and patted the bed. She scooted in, pressing her back against his chest, and he wrapped his arm around her waist, cradling her head in the crook of his other arm. His torso was so long that the top of her head barely came up to his chin, but he leaned down to smell her hair, kiss her scalp. 

“One more question, Iris.” He whispered. 

Iris smiled. “Okay.” 

“Do you believe in forgiveness?” 

Iris furrowed her brow, her blood growing leaden and heavy in her veins. “Where did that come from, Julian?” She asked quietly – she couldn’t keep the worry out of her voice.

“No, listen...” He implored, his lips in her hair. “Do you think that even truly heinous things can be forgiven? Or are there some things you don’t get to come back from?” 

Iris paused. She lifted his hand on her waist, his branded hand, to her lips and kissed the blackened skin. “You can always come back.” She whispered.

Julian sighed, and pulled her closer. “It’s the not knowing that kills me.” He murmured, his voice distant.

Like this, they drifted off to sleep.

*******

It was dark and starless when Iris was jolted awake, the hand draped across her stomach suddenly gripping her with its full force, bruising as Julian’s entire body shook; he was tangled in the sheets, the blankets kicked away from the two of them, his back and brow slicked with feverish sweat. He whimpered pitifully, his voice wispy and thin in Iris’s ear: “_Oprosti, žao mi je, molim te, molim te, ne nju..._"

Iris turned, still mostly asleep, and nuzzled her cheek into his, their lips brushing easily, her fingertips ghosting lazily over his cheek. “_Annwyl, dragi, rydw I yma..._” She whispered, and his face softened, his grip slowly relented, hand wrapping around her waist, pulling her closer, his breath evening steadily, steadily. Iris could feel the gentle trickle of cool air against her collarbone, his face nestled in her neck, still flushed, still tight with pain, as they sank slowly back to sleep.

Her dreams were riddled with images of peonies, their petals drifting, careful pink and whisper-white, on a still spring breeze, their hearts black and oozing; with moonlight slicing through stained-glass windows, shaped like a crimson eye; blinding white, as far as Iris could see, her voice echoing, echoing, in the nothing as she screamed; Asra, watching through lidded, misty eyes, as Julian pressed his lips to the back of her neck, as he pulled her closer into his arms and she sank, with a contented sigh, into his sleepy embrace, and the pale sun rose in the little window, giving them all the warmth he had, even if it wasn’t much, wasn’t enough, wasn’t enough just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _MOC: sweet bb Juli, the epitome of a Pisces man, looks tough on the outside but is actually a sweet soft cream-centered squish who wants to dote on and care for ~the one whom his soul loves~ **fans self with two fans** _
> 
> _See you in the Chariot!_


	3. The Chariot, Part 1: I Feel A Weakness Coming On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Bon Iver - 715-CRΣΣKS **
> 
> _ CW: Teen/adult relationship overtones _

It was just before dawn when Iris woke; the fire had died in the hearth, and the pre-light January air was frigid. Still, Iris didn’t want to leave the bed – it was warm there under Mazelinka’s hand-sewn quilts, in Julian’s arms. Julian…

His breath was warm, steady, against her hair; he was muttering a little in his sleep, but Iris could barely make it out – Nivenese, she realized. His hand had drifted from her waist down to her belly, where it rested against the tender flesh right above her pubis. She covered his hand with her own – even in his sleep, he wove his fingers through hers instinctually, and Iris’s heart fluttered, flushed. The warmth sank her into another memory. 

_She and Julian were spooning in bed, but the bed was different – softer, more luxurious. Iris opened one eye and saw that they were sleeping in the palace, but in a different room than her guest room – the bed and the room were bigger, the arrangement different. It was full of Julian’s things – stacks and stacks of books from the library, papers and drawings, his clothing, strewn absolutely everywhere. Iris’s things were about, too – spellbooks, scrolls, dresses, jewelry – her creams, oils, and perfume were displayed on the vanity in the corner. Her Tarot deck rested on the table beside them._

_Iris sat up in the bed with a sleep groan, and rubbed her eyes lazily, adjusting to the light filtering through the lace-gauze curtains. Two long, strong arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her back into the sheets. _

_“Not yet...” Julian muttered, kissing her neck. “It can’t be morning...” _

_“It is.” Iris said, and pulled herself out of his arms, an annoyance creeping into her voice. “What time did you get in?” _

_Julian closed his eyes. “Late. Too late.” Iris’s brow knit. _

_“Ilya...” _

_He opened his eyes; their gazes locked. It was almost unnerving, now, to look into both of his eyes. “I know, I know.” _

_She kissed him tenderly on the lips. “I have work to do, too. My mentor is a real hardass, and he’s going to want to check my progress.” _

_Julian snorted, but wrapped his arms back around Iris, gently tugging her back into warmth of his embrace. “Stay. Maybe I can convince your mentor to be lenient with you.” He opened only one eye this time, the pupil widening, inky, as his long fingers grazed the chiffon of her sleeping robe, the slope of her hip, finding the softness of the inside of her thigh, squeezing gently, fingertips ghosting over the satin of her panties – _

“Ilya!” A throaty, aged voiced yelled, as Iris jumped; the rings of the curtain screeched as Mazelinka wrenched it open. “Did you come through the window again, you slippery boy?” 

Julian raised his head up, his Adam’s apple bobbing a little, blinking back sleep from his visible eye. Iris wrapped the quilt tighter around her; she felt color rising to her cheeks as the older woman, unamused, scrutinized the scene in her bed. 

“Maz...you’re a sight for the sore eye. Love the shawl, is it new?” Julian murmured, a sleepy smirk flitting across his features.

Mazelinka rolled her eyes, her lips lifting up into a long-suffering scowl; she had a very defined, raffish gap between her two front teeth. “You know it isn’t. Get decent. I’ll have breakfast on in a jiffy.” She closed the curtain with another screech of the rings. 

Iris turned to Julian, perplexed. He laughed. 

“Let’s just say...you’re not the first person Maz’s found me between the sheets with.” He planted a kiss on her cheek, and then sprung out of bed, gathering up the clothes he had laid out for them last night. 

“I’m not much of a laundress, but I know something about getting blood out of clothes – unfortunately, it involves soaking them overnight. I was able to scrounge something together for you.” He procured for her a large white men’s shirt with puffy sleeves and a sumptuous blue-and-silver silk cord. She pulled the shirt over her head and inhaled – it was Julian’s shirt, and though it was clean, it was still imbued with his distinctive scent. 

She tied the cord around her waist to secure the shirt – it was almost comically massive on her frame. “I’m not even that short...” She muttered. 

“There’s more...” He handed her a pair of ancient-looking gray cotton leggings, and then a pair of rough suede boots that hit a few inches above Iris’s knee. She scrunched up her face and looked at him. 

“Where did you...” 

“Maz is a bit of a hoarder. She hasn’t fit in to her pirate garb in years. She won’t mind.” 

Iris pulled the leggings up to her waist; they were a little tight around the hips – Mazelinka must have been slighter than Iris when she was younger – but they otherwise fit. The boots, even though Iris was wary to forgo her usual bare feet, fit perfectly. 

Julian observed his handiwork while he pulled on his boots. “Have you ever thought of being a pirate? The look suits you.” He said with a smirk. He had dressed, also; he was wearing a loose black shirt with huge, billowing sleeves, and sturdy gray leggings. He pulled back the curtain, and the two of them entered the main room. 

_Friend!_ Faust slithered up to Iris, who bent down to scoop her up. 

“How did you sleep, Faust? I know you don’t like to be away from Asra this long.” Iris cuddled her close. “We’ll see him so soon.” Faust coiled happily in her arms. 

_So soon!_

Mazelinka was watching Iris carefully from the hearth; when she caught sight of her face, she started visibly and squinted hard at Iris. Then, she turned to Julian. 

“_Ilja, miljenik_, I need a few herbs from the garden, and I’d rather not go back down and up the stairs if I can help it. Would you…?” 

“What do you need?” Julian asked, already swinging his cloak over his shoulders. 

“Thyme and rosemary. Bring up more than you think we need. I’d like to make a tincture.” 

He kissed Mazelinka on the cheek and slipped out the back door. Mazelinka paused a moment, her eyes on the door, before turning to Iris.

“Iris, _duša_...I hardly recognized you.” She crossed the room and placed her hands on Iris’s cheeks, as if she couldn’t believe it was true. “It’s been so long...” 

“I’m sorry, Mazelinka,” Iris said. “I don’t remember a lot...” 

“Of course you don’t, _duša_. Most don’t fall into Death’s arms and return to tell the tale. But...” She paused. “Does Ilya…?” 

Iris looked down for a moment, and then looked back into Mazelinka’s eyes. “He knows something. We’ve talked – we know we were lovers once before. I don’t know if any concrete memories have come back to him.” Iris bit her lip. “I’m not sure he’s ready for that yet.” 

Mazelinka nodded slowly. “He was distraught, poor darling, nearly lost his mind with grieving. He disappeared for weeks – almost drank and doped himself to death. Your mentor, Asra, dropped him off here one night. Could hardly remember his own name, let alone you.” Mazelinka’s eyes twinkled. “A powerful magic had settled on him. And then, the curse...” 

Iris furrowed her brow. “How did you know...” 

“About Asra’s spell? The mark of the bargain? Your resurrection? An old woman knows.” Her eyes twinkled again, and Iris felt a tingle of energy on her skin. 

Iris furrowed her brow, and the question began forming on her lips, but the door opened, and Julian appeared with an armful of herbs, his cheeks flushed with cold. Dawn was just beginning to streak, hot pink, fluorescent orange, gold, in the clouds on the horizon behind him. There was a sizzling - Mazelinka had dropped eggs into a pan next to a few rashers of bacon. 

“Bring those here, _miljenik_.” She gestured to him with her chin; Iris sank into the same chair that she sat in in her memory. Julian delivered the herbs to Mazelinka and joined Iris at the table; he poured Iris a cup of coffee from the gently steaming pot in at the little table’s center, before pouring one for himself himself. Iris couldn’t help but smile at this little gesture. 

The house was silent, save from the sound of bacon sizzling, the fire crackling in the hearth. Mazelinka sprinkled a handful of herbs in the eggs, and then tipped the rest of the herbs into the tincture pot, which she added her hair-raising brandy to. It was Julian who spoke next. 

“Say, Iris, have I ever told you about the time I kidnapped a pregnant war elephant?” He smirked. Mazelinka groaned audibly. 

“Not this harebrained story...” 

Julian and Mazelinka took turns telling the tale, interjecting with each other, contradicting each other, teasing each other; Iris sat back and drank her coffee, soaking up their adorable banter. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door; it startled Iris, making her spill coffee down Julian’s white shirt, which she quickly magicked out of the fabric before it stained. Faust’s head sprung up from her shoulders, alert, her tongue flickering. 

Julian rose and, glancing back at Mazelinka, who nodded, strode across the room to the door, wrenching it open. 

Asra stood in the doorway, wrapped in his traveling cloak; he lowered his hood, craning his neck up at Julian, a gentle, knowing glint in his eyes. It was a comical scene – Asra was sturdily built, but he looked like a waif next to Julian, who had several centimeters of height on him and the considerable bulk that came with it. Still, Julian trembled at the sight him. 

“May I…?” Asra asked, his eyebrows raised. Julian opened his mouth, but no sound came out. 

“Ignore that dumbass.” Mazelinka called to Asra. “Come in.” 

Asra stepped through the crooked doorframe, a winning smile on his face. “It’s been far too long, Mazelinka.” 

Mazelinka returned his smile, wiping her hands on her apron. “Well, you’ve got Korina up in your neck of the woods, and her herbs are just as good as mine. But that begs the question...what are you doing here?” 

“I’ve come to collect Iris.” Asra said. “We have a busy day ahead.” 

“How did you–” Julian began, but Mazelinka and Iris interrupted him in unison. 

“Faust.” 

The snake cocked her head, then slithered from Iris’s shoulders to her companion, winding herself up his shoulders and into his shirt, practically purring with happiness.

Iris stood from her seat, unsure. Her eyes darted between Asra and Julian. She and Asra took other lovers, but it was very rare they ever met in the wild. Knowing their history together made the encounter even more difficult to navigate. 

Julian’s hand flew up to his hair. “Asra...” 

He turned to Julian, his head cocked slightly, a smile playing across his lips. “It’s nice to see you again, Ilya. Iris has grown very fond of you.” He turned to his face to hers and winked.

“Err...I...” Julian mumbled, blushing. 

Iris stepped between them and placed a hand on Julian’s shoulder. “Julian saved my life last night. I was bitten by a vampire eel.” She turned to Asra. “He risked his safety for mine.” 

A smile danced behind Asra’s eyes. “Faust showed me.” He swept into a graceful bow in front of Julian, making Julian blush even more deeply. “We’re in your debt, Ilya.” 

Asra straightened, and turned to Iris, placing his hands on her shoulders gently. She could see a flicker of pain flit across his features. 

“Are you ready, Iris? I don’t want to rush you, but...” Iris’s stomach grumbled loudly in response, which made Asra laugh; Julian chuckled, too, and relaxed his shoulders a bit, his eyes meeting Iris’s a moment before darting away, cheeks flushed again. 

“Let the girl eat her breakfast, Asra.” Mazelinka said, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. She was plating up the food – there were now four places set at the modest table. “There’s plenty for you, too, if you’re hungry.” 

“That would be lovely, Mazelinka.” Asra said, sliding into the chair as she placed a plate in front of him. 

Iris giggled, and squeezed Julian’s shoulder. “It’s fine. Just breakfast.” Julian’s eyes were still wary, but he sat down next to Asra, across from Iris. She gave him an encouraging smile as she cut into her eggs. 

“Julian, tell me a story about when you two worked together at the palace together. I’d love to know more about that time.”

Julian blushed a little, then his eyes shifted, remembering; he let out a booming laugh. “One time Asra nearly drank a rare leech specimen I had collected.” 

Asra’s fork clinked against his plate indignantly. “In my defense, you had it stored in a wine bottle...”

“It was all I had at the time.” Julian shrugged; he caught Iris’s eye and winked – it almost worked, with his eyepatch. 

Iris laughed as the two of them bickered pleasantly; she glanced at Mazelinka, who was watching her again, curiously. 

Asra and Julian continued to reminisce until they were done eating. It was Iris who rose from the table first to take her dishes to the washbasin; Julian was quick to follow. When they were out of earshot, he grabbed her elbow gently. 

“I want to see you again soon, but I may lay low here until the guard dies down. I’ll send word with Portia.” He whispered in her ear, before kissing her temple softly; Iris’s heart fluttered.

Asra rose and gave Iris a patient look. She wrapped her arms around Julian’s neck and kissed him good-bye; he let his hands trail from her arms to the small of her back and pulled her close, but he was quick to break the kiss, ever aware of Asra’s eyes on them. 

Iris turned and looked at Mazelinka, who opened her arms; Iris embraced her too, warmly. “Thank you.” Iris whispered, and went to pull away, but Mazelinka held on. 

“It is rare to find real love in this world.” Mazelinka said, her voice low. “...And even rarer to find it twice. You take care of both these troublemakers, now.” 

Iris blushed, and pulled away, uncertain how to respond. 

Asra stood by the door, an elegant, deep blue cloak in his arms; Iris realized it was hers – Asra must have gone back to the shop on his way here to retrieve it. He held it open for her as she shrugged her arms in and wrapped it around her shoulders. She looked back at Julian, flashing him a small smile as they crossed over the threshold; her hand found Asra’s, and their fingers interlocked as she closed the door behind them. 

“Thank you, Asra,” she said quietly as they descended the rickety stairs down to the Southside street. 

“For?” He said with a small smile, surveying the narrow alley before turning away from the city center, towards the direction of the woods. 

“For being so good to me.” She brought his hand to her lips, kissing the row of knuckles. “It can’t be easy for you to see Julian, let alone know that I’m with him.” 

Asra’s hand released hers and wound his arm around her waist, pulling her close. “I don’t ever want to be the thing that keeps you from your happiness.” He whispered, his lips on her ear, as they navigated the narrow street in the early morning glow. Iris wrapped her arm around him now, her fingers grasping his shoulder under his cloak, chewing on the words swirling up from her throat. She needed to ask. 

“I feel the same way – that’s why I need to make sure this isn’t hurting you.” 

Asra turned to her, his eyes wide. “Of course not, Iris, I...” His gaze darted over her features. “...I know desire is complicated. Love is complicated.” His eyes softened now, darkening mischievously. “As long as you find your way back to my bed sometimes, I won’t complain.” 

Iris kissed his lips tenderly, her worries smoothed. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Asra smiled against her lips as Faust rubbed her muscled body against both their cheeks, her tongue flickering against Iris’s skin. “I know.” 

They were at the forest’s edge now. “Where are we going, Asra?” 

“Off the path.” He said to her, a mysterious smile playing across his face. Their boots crushed through the underbrush as they picked through the trees. Though their way was unmarked and overgrown, Asra knew it by heart, it seemed, and Iris realized that her feet seemed to know it, too – which tree roots would trip her, where the welcome handholds were, where to dip her nose down to smell the delicate calendula clusters that dotted their path. Asra was neither leading her, nor following her – they were going together. 

“We’re going somewhere you’ve been before.” Asra said, as if he’d read her mind. “Try to relax, enjoy the forest. We don’t always go this deep.” 

Iris’s gaze swiveled upward to the treetops, her eyes landing on the branches of a tall ash. Three ravens, their bodies stark against the bottle blue morning, formed the points of a sturdy triangle. 

“Oh...” She breathed, her hand touching Asra’s back, bidding for his attention. He turned, followed her lambent gaze upwards. “The _three of cups,_ Asra.” 

His breath hitched softly; they both stilled, watchful, until a faraway noise in the forest startled all three to wing. 

“Beautiful.” Asra whispered, his lips nearly touching Iris’s ear, making the hairs on her neck stand on end. 

“Auspicious.” Iris said, thinking of the reading she pulled two days before, of him and Julian; she surged, and she ached. 

“I wasn’t talking about the birds.” Iris could tell just from his voice that he was wearing a wicked grin. Her lips curled into a smirk and she swatted his shoulder, playfully. They continued on. 

After nearly an hour of walking east, straight into the slowly rising sun, they came across a massive stone maw, grown over with vines and whitewinter lily plants, the narrow, tender buds just now piercing through their bright green sheaths. The lilies would be on the smaller side this year, Iris noticed absentmindedly – they hadn’t had as much rain this season.

Asra pushed through the vines to reveal the mouth of a massive cave, the ceiling dripping with condensation and stalactites. He gestured for Iris to lead, holding the vines out of her way; she stepped through, and Asra quickly followed, his hand moving to the small of her back, not guiding, but not letting go, either. 

It was much cooler in the cave, but also damper, clammy – almost immediately, beads of sweat formed on Iris’s back, the nape of her neck, at her temples. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw the walls of the cave were grooved and carved over and over with intricate patterns – they seemed to move as if they were alive, the surface an undulating palimpsest. 

“People have been coming to this cave since the dawn of all, before even the first magician called down the Arcana, to navigate the arcane and astral realms, to perform rituals and spells, to see another side of reality. To open their eyes.” Asra murmured in Iris’s ear. “All that magic...this place breathes with it, Iris.”

Iris could feel it all – the air around them was electric, arcing, but also wet and breathing, like they were in the mouth the Universe herself. She felt their auras increasing in brightness, the purple shimmer that haloed Asra now making his white hair appear especially stark, his soulful eyes impossibly deep. 

Her own aura shifted around her: one moment blue, the next, pink, the next white streaked with orange. Asra called her aura ‘opalescent’, and had always assured her it would settle as she continued to study magic...yet, after three years, plus however many before she lost her memories, it was still morphing like this. Iris had no idea what it meant, though in the primordial hum of the cave, it felt right, it felt hers. 

Asra continued as they delved deeper, the slip of light from the topside receding behind them. “The first time I brought you here, you were just starting to study magic. I’ve been wanting to bring you back for a while, but I worried that you weren’t ready.” He paused now, and Iris glanced back at him, taking in his graceful profile as he looked away, embarrassed. “I’m not going to hold you back anymore. I know you’re going to be fine.” 

“Be fine with what?” 

“The residual magic here – it gathers at a natural spring. Your first task is to lead us there.” 

Iris smiled. With the dripping energy of this place, that would be painfully easy. “You thought I wasn’t ready for that?” She asked him, a little incredulously; her magic thrummed in her palms, her clairvoyance already drawing the map in her head. 

Asra blushed. “That’s only the first task.” The cave was heightening both of their senses – Iris could feel his pulse jumping in his hand on the small of her back, hear his heart pounding in her ears. She heard every whispering tone of concern in his voice. What could possibly be making him this nervous? Iris cast an orb of soft orange light, and together, they descended into the abyss.

It was impossible to tell time down here – Iris had no idea how long they were walking, even though she was absolutely certain of the way. The passage narrowed and widened erratically, the carvings on the walls growing more and more intricate, more and more wild. As they drew deeper into the earth, Iris could swear she saw colors dancing in the corners of her eyes, but when she turned her gaze to the wall, all she saw was the orange glow of the light. It was comfortably silent; Asra didn’t speak, and neither did Iris, but she knew he wasn’t taking in the experience of the cave – he was carefully watching her.

Soon, light streaked across the cave’s walls; Iris extinguished her orb, and, Asra’s hand still on her back, they entered an enormous cavern. Iris inhaled sharply, her senses overwhelmed, the air alive with the susurrus of falling water, the smell of lush greenery, the gentle glow of the magic that welled up from the earth. The ceiling was pocked with skylights that drew languid strokes of midday (afternoon?) light across the carved surface of the cavern walls, nearly a hundred meters tall. 

Asra had said there was a spring in the center of the cave, but to call it a spring was laughable – it was vast, the size of lake, so vast that Iris could hardly see the shore on the other side. The water was impossibly clear, crystalline and dotted all over with gargantuan lilypads, the smallest of which were probably the size of Iris’s wingspan, no – _Julian’s_ massive wingspan. In the center of the lake was a single lotus flower, which would be unremarkable if it were not shining with the intensity of a star. 

Besides her, Asra gasped too; she turned to him, her eyes questioning. “It hasn’t been like this in years...the water’s back. It was dry just last week.” Iris’s eyes flew wide. She couldn’t imagine what kind of astral shift must have happened for the spring to well up in such a short time. 

“What now?” She whispered to him, still taking in the gorgeous, unreal view in front of them. 

Asra walked to the water’s edge – as he approached, the surface rippled, untouched – it was responding to the vibrating field of magic that surged from him, surged from Iris, too, in the power of whatever formed this cavern. 

“The lotus at the center. Your next task is to reach it. Just don’t fall into the water.” 

“What, on...on the lilypads?” 

Asra turned to her now – she was overwhelmed at the sight of him, his skin and aura glowing, the cool violet effervescence and his tawny tones playing with each other, undulating. Everything Iris loved about his appearance – the sculptural curve of his strong jaw, the impossible swell of his cheekbones, his arching, regal brow, not to even mention his body – seemed amplified a hundredfold, crushingly so. Iris never wanted to look away from him. 

“Don’t overthink it, Iris. Breathe deep, and let your intuition guide you.” His gaze on her was...was unbearable, leaden with pride, adoration, confidence, but also an unmasked, naked desire. She didn’t need to dip into him to see – he was full to bursting with adoration for her. 

Iris sprung into action, unhesitatingly; she quickly shed her cloak, unshod the soft suede boots and took a running leap onto the first lilypad, her bare feet sound and sure on the plant’s sleek surface. She didn’t expect it to hold her weight for long, but she was shocked at how sturdy they were, easily buoying her, albeit shakily, as she crossed to the next one. 

Though Iris was moving quickly, it was slow going – the spring was enormous, and as she leapt from glossy pad to glossy pad, it seemed as if the lotus wasn’t growing any nearer. Several times, the urge to look back, to see Asra, to check her distance sprung up in her, but each time her intuition quieted it. Don’t look back now. Move forward only. Iris heard and heeded the ancient knowledge in her heart. 

The lilypads were stupidly big now – Iris had to take three bounding strides to cross them to the next. She could feel her back growing slick with sweat – she was sprinting, the pads bouncing under her footfalls, and suddenly the lotus appeared in her vision, dazzling her. She slowed her pace as she approached the center of the massive lilypad – it took her seven strides to reach the flower. 

It was the size of Iris’s head, and though Iris thought it would blind her upon reaching it, it was so bright at the shore, now it emanated a soft, pulsing light, as welcoming as breath. She hadn’t thought of what she was going to do when she reached the center, but it came to her naturally – she sank to her knees and leaned over the flower, inhaling deeply. The scent was unlike anything she had ever smelled, not of lotus, but of every smell she’d ever loved, cardamom coffee, baking bread, oranges and cinnamon, musk and rum and the sea, herbs and smoke, rain-soaked irises, whitewinter lilies…

She almost didn’t react in time – the massive lilypad retracted underneath her just as she took an impossible inhale, filling, it seemed, her entire body with air, her magic swirling around her visibly, white streaked with pink and blue and orange. She dropped, soundlessly, into the clear water.

The spring was deep, the depths dark and spiraling below her, but she had no need to breath – the spell she cast was an insufflation spell, one she could not remember ever using. The water around her was warm, comforting, and felt oddly thick, not viscous, but sleek, like the fluid of a womb. The euphoria of it sent a warm shudder through Iris as she was flooded with a memory. 

_At first, Iris almost didn’t recognize herself in the slip in front of her – she was a teenager, no more than 16, her light blonde hair wavy and unkempt around her shoulders. She was wearing paper-bag waist pants and a peasant blouse, with supple brown boots – the light, flowing fabrics she was swathed in could not hide the beginnings of her curves, the soft contour of her growing breasts and hips visible in the low light of the cave. It was startling to see her former self, the uncocooning of her youth, her blossoming beauty, the memories of that girlhood long lost to her. Startling, Iris realized, and painful._

_The air hummed, the magic around her and Asra whooshing in their ears. The cave looked ominous now under the sharp light of a full moon, peering menacingly through the skylights; the energy of the place was heavy, almost threatening. The back of her neck prickled, her nerves fired, and though her intuition rose to quiet her, to guide her, it was squashed out by the sea of voices that were telling her to leave, leave now, to panic, to run. _

_Asra’s soft voice broke through her internal dialogue. “You can do this, Iris. Just remember – savor your breath, lead with your heart, and be present. Listen to your intuition, trust it, and let it guide you. That is the lesson.” He was so young here, too – his face was a little fuller, his skin softer, his frame lither, but even in his youth, his presence was sensitive, compassionate, wise, the perfect mentor for a budding magician. _

_Iris’s heart twisted – she already wasn’t listening, her panic biting vomit against her tongue. Still, she kicked off her shoes, just as she had a few minutes ago, and took a running leap onto the first lily pad. _

_It was clear she wasn’t quite accustomed to her new body, the longer limbs, the additional weight. She stumbled and fell into the lily pad with a splash, her ungainly legs flailing for a moment. She faltered, then stood, her knees shaking and soaked, as she clambered onto the next one. _

_The deluge of emotions that overtook Iris now confused her: consumptive anxiety, apprehension, the tensing of her muscles as if ready to spring into action, but also – an overwhelming feeling of affection, an urge to protect, searing confusion, an animal stirring in her gut, a surge of physical desire unlike anything she had ever felt, as if from some phantom limb – no – _

_Iris glanced back at Asra while her teenaged self struggled to reach the lotus, her vision distorted, double-exposed. Asra was inscrutable to her – (even at this tender age, she was powerful enough that he could not repel her?) - so why was she feeling his emotions? It was her memory… His brow was furrowed now, the deep groove in his forehead alarming – his eyes were full of concern and fear, but also confusion. His voice came to her, though his mouth was not moving. “This is bad.” _

_Suddenly, he bolted, dropping his bag, kicking off his boots, and taking a frantic breath before diving into the water gracefully – there was a faraway splash as the young Iris dropped down into the depths, her panic finally overtaking her as she hesitated, looked back, eyes wide with fear, and the plant’s surface retracted underneath her. _

_Iris was compelled with Asra into the water, and she felt the panic rise in him, too, as she watched her former self sink slowly, limp and lifeless as a ragdoll. She was so far away, and though Asra was a quick swimmer, it seemed like the distance could never be breached in time before she was sucked down into the void. _

_Asra’s muscles and lungs burned as he clawed through the thick water; by the time he reached young Iris, wrapped his arms around her waist and heaved her up to the surface, he thought his heart would explode. They breached the surface, both gasping, the rush of electric air shocking her teenaged self back to consciousness. She sobbed loudly, choking, clinging to Asra like a child, and his arms shook as he pulled her close, burying his face into her shoulder. _

_“I’m so sorry, Iris...I shouldn’t have brought you here.” He whispered. “I need to teach you a spell. Right now. So this...so you don’t get hurt again...” A cacophony of of emotions rattled through Iris – her panic and confusion, his fear and shame – shame? – _

She was pulled out of the memory softly as her head broke through the surface – Asra’s arms were encircled around her waist, one hand on her cheek, his gaze full of pride and adoration – the cavern echoed with his musical laughter. 

“Here I was, coiled like a spring, ready to jump in and save you.” He bellowed between joyful sounds. “You didn’t need my help at all.” 

Together, they swam to the shore – once they reached the rocky stretch, Iris made to stand, but Asra pulled her back down into the water. He wrapped his hands around her and he pulled her close and held her, their noses touching and chests flush as they laid together on the smooth stone, the slick water licking gently at their hips. 

“I don’t know why I was so scared, Iris.” He said finally, his eyes far away. “You did so well.” 

Iris kissed him. “You did have to save me once...I would have worried, too.” 

Asra inhaled sharply, quietly. “Do you remember that?” 

“I saw it in the spring. Actually...” Iris bit her lip, recalling the memory. “The memory was odd, sort of like...it was two memories at once. Yours and mine, but overlapping.” 

At this, Asra blushed. “That...is possible. The water here is imbued with powerful, ancient magic. When there are two people in it at once, they become so deeply connected that they could switch bodies. I was thinking of that time when I was swimming to you. It’s possible you were seeing my memory while reliving yours, too.” His eyes darkened a little. “Though...that memory is not one I would have chosen to share with you.” 

“Tell me more.” Iris said, pressing her forehead into his. “Please.”

He pulled her even closer. “You...you were so young when we came here. Only 15. Even then...I was so entranced by you. You were a dazzlingly talented magician, so willful and fierce. You gave your aunt hell for your first year in Vesuvia, even after I started to mentor you. You cussed out guards and haggled ruthlessly with shopkeeps; once, you decked a man who accidentally touched your ass in the market. You broke the poor man’s nose. I thought he’d pop a blood vessel as I fixed it for him.”

“But you were also so...so compassionate, so sensitive and sweet. You cried when you read books that moved you or heard sad songs. You would bring home animals, all kinds of lizards and snakes and cats, you’d find in the streets, and your poor sweet aunt and I would help you find homes for them. You always gave pentacles to street kids, even if you caught them picking your pocket. I was completely wrapped around your finger, Iris. I would have followed you to the end of the earthside world and beyond.” 

Asra paused now, sighing heavily, his eyes screwed shut, as if in pain. “And...I wanted to be with you. But I was 20 then. You made me feel like a dirty old man.” He grinned sheepishly, his tawny skin reddening, and Iris smiled tenderly, tracing his cheekbone with her thumb. “Nothing happened between us then, of course, but I had to...” He laughed, smiling a little. “...I had to always have an inscrutability charm up when I was with you. You were constantly trying to peek inside my mind, test the limits of our boundaries. I should have known.” 

Iris glowed – she loved watching him reminisce about their past, about her. “Known what, Asra?” 

“That you felt the same way. You came to me on the night of your 18th birthday. We became lovers then.” His eyes dilated a little, recalling the memory. “All was well in the end, but it was complicated for a long time.” 

“So why didn’t you want to share this memory with me?” Iris prodded him gently, her lips brushing against his jaw as she leaned in to whisper in his ear. 

He blushed, furiously. “This place...it amplifies everything. Your magic, your aura, your intuitions… and your emotions. You were so afraid, then; it was manifesting in air around us. But I could only focus on what it brought to the surface for me – my desire for you. I was ashamed of it, afraid of it. Afraid I would hurt you. That memory...was the very first time I realized that I loved you.” 

Iris jolted up a little, her eyes wide. “You loved me? Before?” 

“Oh, Iris.” Asra murmured. “How could I not? You were the brightest light. You were all I could see.” He paused, swallowed hard, averting his eyes. “But it was so painful, Iris. When I saw you finally, with clear eyes, what the magic here showed me...when you plunged into that water, and I thought I was going to lose you...that was the first time I realized I could hurt you, really hurt you. I was so caught up in myself that I almost sent you to your death.” 

“But you didn’t.” Iris said. “I’m here now. I’m safe. I'm real.” 

Asra’s eyes darkened, drenched with sorrow. “I didn’t, but I had to be so careful after that. I kept my distance. When it got to be too much...I would leave. Retreat for weeks, months, to my oasis, to travel the world. Your aunt, she knew. She saw everything. She understood. But you...” A fond, faint smile lifted the corners of his lips. “You would get so angry with me. Just like you do now. You would sulk before I left, wouldn’t speak to me when I returned. You’d turn up your nose at the things I brought back for you.” 

Iris pressed her forehead against his neck. “Is that what you do now?” She asked quietly. “When it all gets to be too much, you leave?” 

Asra’s warm breath rustling Iris’s hair. “There’s… there’s still so much you don’t know, Iris… so much I wish I could share with you. But I..” His voice wavered, broke; for a horrible moment, Iris thought he was going to cry. “I can’t bear the thought of hurting you. Hurting you again.” 

Iris sighed, and brushed the soaked hair out of his eyes, looking deep into them. It was true about this place – the purple of his eyes was intensifying with each moment she stared, pulling her deeper into him. She was so relaxed, so comfortable in his arms, so overcome with the softness, the certainty, of the knowing that welled up in her. The silky water around them was so warm. 

“How can you love someone with hurting them, Asra?” She murmured. “You say there’s a price for everything. You hold their heart in your chest, and yours is in theirs. Every movement you make, they feel, and they move with you, too. And mortals are stupid, we’re messy – we think we’ve got it figured out, locked down and under control, but the Universe can throw us off balance with the gentlest wind.”

“We have to decide what hurts worse...being with someone, or being without someone.” She rested her forehead against his, gently rubbing back and forth, like a cat arching against legs. “It’s not even a question, for me. I don’t want to be without you.” 

Asra sank lower into the surf and laid his cool cheek on her bosom – Iris realized, with a flush, that Julian’s shirt had become diaphanous around her body, her curves visible, her nipples dusky and pink against the light fabric. Asra sighed, a deep, satisfied sound, his breath hot on Iris’s skin. 

“I love the sound of your heartbeat, Iris. I would do anything for you…anything to protect this.” He turned his head now, his lips brushing against the soaked fabric – delicately, he pushed it aside, the buttons giving easily, to reveal Iris’s skin, slick and damp. He kissed her, right over her heart, firmly, his lips lingering there a long time. “Your precious heart...so full of love...” He whispered. 

His hands slid up her back, caressing her spine gently, before grasping her behind her shoulderblades and rolling her into the surf. He was on top of her now, eyes gleaming with desire. 

“I want to make love to you in this place.” He murmured to her, his lips softly grazing her neck, dotting it with slow, simmering kisses. “Do you want to?”

Iris wrapped her arms around him, her hands stroking his back and sides through his sopping shirt. “Please?” She whispered, barely masking the needful whine that rose from her. Asra kissed her lips, passionately now – their mouths opened in unison, and they exchanged leisurely caresses with their tongues, unhurried. They kissed each other for a very long time, letting the gentle bubbles coming up from the spring rock them, warm them. 

When Asra finally broke away from the kiss, Iris could see his aura had swollen, that their auras were mingling, her shifting aura tinted a soft lavender as it oscillated through its cycles, his glowing with a faint silver light. He locked eyes with Iris and, with lips parted, he slipped his hand into her shirtdress, teasing the buttons open and untying the silk cord with his magic. She undressed him, too, shrugging the vest off his shoulders and unraveling his tasseled scarf, so only his white shirt remained, clinging to his every muscle, every angle. 

When he got the last button undone, Iris lifted up her hips so he could pull it up, pressing her hips into his – he was already hard, which made Iris tremble. She lifted her shoulders now, and he freed her from the fabric, but she rolled over, laying on her stomach against the smooth stone surface of the shore, looking back at him over her shoulder as she extended her arms long out in front of her, pressing her backside into his crotch. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” She teased him.

The noise that rose from him was something like a groan and a growl as he surged forward, kissing her shoulders, his hands quickly finding the swells of her ass, which he fondled, before they rose to her naked waist. He massaged her sides while he kissed, licked, and touched every inch of her back, making Iris sigh and hum, her chest vibrating with satisfaction. 

He traveled lower and lower, his kisses on the small of her back and the cinch of her waist making her jump, giggling, as they tickled her. When he reached the waistband of her leggings, he gently pulled them down to her knees, so her curves could be free. 

Now he ran his tongue, hot and wet, over the soft hills of her backside, tasting the tender skin there, while he cupped the other cheek with a gentle, exploring touch. Iris lifted and arched herself into his hands, and she could feel his lips smiling against her skin. Softly, he nipped the flesh, kissed it, tasted it, all over – when his mouth finally arrived at the place where the swells met, at the flat of her back, he was panting. 

“Iris...” he whispered, his gentle, warm fingers tracing between her cheeks tenderly. “Can I make love to you here?” One finger touched her anus carefully – Iris could feel that it was lubricated, the sensation of it and Asra’s hot breath so close to such an intimate space made her quiver and surge. She moaned, and looked back at him, making eye contact. His eyes were completely dilated, and his teeth were sunk in his bottom lip as he awaited her answer. 

“Yes.” 

He moaned, just a little, before gently twirling the pad of his finger against her – then, to her surprise, he leaned forward and spread her cheeks so he could lap at it, spiral his tongue against it, his other hand reaching under to touch her slickness below the water. With two fingers, he dipped into her sex and then stroked her clit with her own slip, the motions matching his tongue. 

She whined and arched her back, making Asra hum against her skin. The deluge of kisses from before, the warmth of the water, the heavy glow of magic in the cavern, her overwhelming love for Asra, made it incredibly easy for her to relax. It wasn’t long until Asra was touching her with his lubed fingertips and removing his rings – she groaned as the first finger slipped in to the first knuckle, then the second, breaching the band of her natural resistance. 

“How does that feel?” He murmured to her. Iris felt a flush of affection for her lover – even now, he was so concerned for her comfort. 

“It feels good, Asra – keep going…please...” She whimpered. With a delicious hum, he plunged further into her, coming to the arc of skin between fingers, making her gasp; he started, so slowly, moving his finger in and out of her, careful to pay attention to her motions, her resistance, but there were none to give him pause. He increased his speed slightly. 

Below, Iris could feel the swelling of orgasm as Asra’s other hand still touched her clitoris; she moaned, loudly, feeling overcome by all the sensations enveloping her – the blanket of magic that covered them, making their auras vibrate as they swelled and mingled, all of Asra’s expert touches. She bit her lip and arched her back more, savoring the feeling of the position change of Asra’s finger inside of her. 

It slipped out now, and Iris whimpered piteously at the loss of touch, but she realized he was pressing two fingers into her now, slicking more lubricant onto his hand and her insides, going even slower now as she stretched and relaxed around him. She bucked against him a little, urging him on – he groaned tremulously, and increased the speed of his other hand against her sex. 

She started to pant with anticipation and grit her teeth, her breath coming in sharp huffs as her orgasm broke inside of her. With a strangled cry, she came, her muscles seizing around his fingers while she moved against him, gyrating her hips as she worked through the tides of pleasure that Asra gave her. 

“Oh, Iris...” He crooned, and a third finger joined the first two, making her hiss a little at the stretch, but she was so warm, so relaxed, it barely hurt, and she felt so lusciously full of him. She went to spread her legs wider for him, but was encumbered by her leggings – she kicked them off wildly, the flexing of the muscles in her glutes and legs sending a delightful shiver through Asra’s spine. He could wait no longer. 

He removed his fingers and helped Iris fully remove her clothing, while fumbling with his own pants; he removed them quickly, along with his shirt, so they were both fully naked in the spring. He threw their clothing to the shore, and lifted Iris’s hips up out of the water. 

Iris saw the flash of purple light, felt the heat, and then felt him press his erection between her cheeks as he leaned forward and rested himself on one elbow, boxing Iris in. He kissed the side of her mouth, her cheeks, her forehead, her chin, all while guiding himself to her; Iris gasped as the hot tip pressed against the tender, relaxed muscle. They paused, and Asra whispered to her, “Are you ready?” 

Iris bit her lip and whined. “Yes...but go slow, please.” 

“Of course, my heart.” He whispered to her, his breath in her ear. Iris felt the first pop as he pushed through her, making her cry out, but she was so relaxed that Asra’s passage was easier than it had ever been before. He pressed so slowly, his pumps so gentle, as each time he worked himself a little further into her. When Iris felt the second pop, the deeper one, the full-body one, so intermingled was the pain with the pleasure that she saw stars from it and growled wildly.

Asra’s grunts were delicious as he responded to her sounds, pumping into her in earnest, still slowly, but now rhythmic, a little more forceful. She knew the muscles here felt completely different than her sex, and Asra’s fervor for this feeling made it worth the little pain for Iris, just to see him, hear him, feel him go crazy for it. Now, he had to fight to restrain himself and keep this languid pace; he leaned down to kiss Iris fully on the lips while one of his hands trailed down her stomach in the water back to her clit, stroking her with the same movements as before. 

Together they moved, their lovemaking leisurely but passionate, moving against the other carefully and smoothly, the cavern echoing with their cries as they rocked together to the precipice. It was a long session – Iris came once more, her body completely wracked by the throes from Asra’s thrusts against her, and by the time Asra pulled himself out of Iris to cum over her back, the light slanting through the skylights above them had grown long and sumptuous, orange and magenta with their sunset glow. 

Then they laid together, panting, clutching to each other – Asra rolled Iris onto her back and kissed her so deeply, so sweetly; she rubbed his back tenderly as his breaths lengthened and he relaxed against her. 

“That was...so good, Asra.” Iris murmured into his ear. 

“Anything for you.” He responded, his eyelashes fluttering against her cheek. He glanced up, and a winning smile crossed his face. “Iris, look...”

The sun had set, dropping them into the heady gloom of dusk, but Iris was dazzled – the carvings etched into the cavern’s wall positively glowed with energy now, in all colors of the rainbow, pulsing oranges and yellows, shimmering blues, violent reds and pinks. The cave’s history was laid bare before them, beautiful runes from eons ago, declarations of love, sweeping epics and farcical caricatures. 

Iris sat up in the surf, her eyes sparkling. “Asra, what is this?” 

“This is you, Iris. Your magic.” He sat up next to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders; she felt the water against her back, his magic rising up to clean her off. “When you smelled the lotus, when it dropped you into the water, it opened your eyes, unchained your power, awoke something inside you – even if just for the moment.” He kissed her hair, his lips lingering. “I’m glad we didn’t waste it.” 

They sat together for a minute or two, Asra’s arm around Iris, as they watched the colors throb, undulate, melt, dissolve, and dance softly in dark. 

“We should go.” Asra said finally, reluctantly. “Nadia is having the Courtiers over for dinner at the palace tonight, and she asked us to join her. We’re probably late already.” 

Iris sank her head onto his shoulder. “I don’t want to leave.” 

“I don’t either. I could stay here forever, if we could.” Asra murmured. “But if there’s one thing I know about Nadia, it’s that she does not like being disobeyed.”

Iris smiled wryly, kissing Asra’s neck. He helped her to her feet, and together they dressed in the winking rainbow lights, dimming down with each passing moment, finally dropping them into the dread of darkness, as if it had all been just a beautiful trick. 

Hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, each casting a flickering orb of light, they left the cavern behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _MOC: As a writer, Asra is my white whale. He is such a complicated and, um, kind of dark? character, soft and sweet to his apprentice but walls upon walls upon walls, so many that sometimes I think even he doesn’t have a good relationship with his internal self. He can be so, so difficult to nail down in the prose, especially in the subtle way that his character demands._
> 
> _That being said, what do you think of this scene? Is it romantic, sweet? Creepy, weird? Both, at the same time? Is it doing the work for you? I’d love to know your thoughts. _


	4. The Chariot, Part 2: Slice Up and Not Across

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Sia - I Go To Sleep (Pretenders cover) **
> 
> _CW: Some disturbing/gory imagery, Lucio being a creep idk what to tell you _

They were, in fact, late, even though Asra practically spirited Iris through the forest back to the palace. Portia took one at them, clothing soaked and covered in grime, their skin dirty, sweaty, and probably reeking of sex, and, with a playful sneer of disgust, ordered them straight into the bath. Flanked by Ami and Primula, Iris was whisked away from Asra, practically thrown into the tub and scoured within an inch of her life, just as she had been that first night at the palace. 

They oiled her up and dressed her quickly, to Iris’s dismay, in more white – a curve-hugging silk dress that clung to her breasts and hips, ornately and thickly bordered with gold. One shoulder was bare – the other was cloaked in a long, dramatic sleeve. Ami fixed her hair with wax and dotted rouge and powder on her cheeks while Primula tied a gold chain belt around her waist – sitting right on her hipbone was an absolutely massive sapphire surrounded by opals and amethysts in the shape of a third eye. The bauble was probably worth more than what the shop earned in months. They shod her in a pair of soft mules, a warm lilac with a low heel. Then they marched her out into the hallway, where Asra waited for her. 

Iris’s jaw dropped. He was dressed in sky blue silk, absolutely covered in embroidered third eyes, the dramatic slits of his sleeves showing off the shapeliness of his arms. Someone had attempted to slick back his hair, to no avail – in the back, it was still unruly, wild. The sumptuous clothing of the palace embarrassed Iris, made her feel rough and plain, but it seemed as if Asra was designed to wear finery. She couldn’t help it – she placed her hand on his chest, her fingers tracing the bare sliver of skin. 

“Asra...you look stunning.” She murmured, looking up at him through her thick eyelashes. He blushed, averting his eyes slightly from her. 

“And you look enchanting. Remind me to thank Nadia later for dressing you in white.” He murmured, his hand finding the small of her back, pulling her close. 

Iris snorted. “I hate wearing white.” 

“I have so many memories of you in white.” Asra’s eyes trailed down her body slowly, before meeting her gaze again, this time through half-lidded eyes – his desire for her was palpable, sending ripples of heat through her. Even though they had made love just hours ago, he looked as if he wanted to have her again right there in the hallway. It was her turn to blush. 

Behind them, Ami coughed softly; Iris had forgotten, for a moment, where they were. The couple let the handmaidens lead them to Nadia’s wing. 

They were brought to the door of Nadia’s receiving chambers, the exact door that, two days ago, Iris had been summoned to to confront Consul Valerius. Iris bit her lip. Undoubtedly, the Consul was behind that door – surely the courtier wouldn’t let her impetuousness go unpunished. Yet with Asra’s hand in hers, she wasn’t worried. 

The porter flung the door open. “The magician Iris, apprentice to the magician Asra, and the magician Asra, friend of the court!” There was a rustle in the room as several bodies turned, rose, or shifted in the crowded room. 

Iris’s stomach twisted, and she clutched at Asra, frozen. The figures in front of her seemed distorted, unreal, grotesque – pale, sagging skin, wicked eyes, pointed teeth, an oppressive miasma of undulating red smoke orbiting each and every one of them. Consul Valerius was the least fearsome of the five; she realized, with a cold, confusing jolt of intuition, that none of the courtiers were fully human. Asra squeezed her hand back, giving her a reassuring smile, before leading her slightly in front of him so she could curtsy. He then bowed, deeply. 

“My apologies for our tardiness.” He said to the room. “Iris and I went to the forest for our lesson today and I underestimated the time we’d need to return.” 

Nadia, at the harp again, nodded; she did not stand to greet them, only kept playing. “Understandable, though you missed quite the dinner. I’ll see to it that the two of you are fed – you must be exhausted from your travels.” Iris was thankful that her stomach didn’t growl at the mention of food. Once again, she hadn’t eaten much of anything since the morning. 

A horrible sound, both a squeal and a moan, rose up from the couches. It was a tiny slip of a woman, barely tall enough to come to Iris’s shoulder, her impossibly small, frail hands clutched to her face – Iris saw that one of her eyes was sightless, blank white with no iris or pupil.

“Oh, magicians! You did miss the most lovely meal. There was roast chicken with beets and grilled lemon, the most delicate mashed yams with goat cheese, arugula salad, piles and piles of bread of all kinds...and dessert, my goodness...” She continued listing all of the food at dinner. Iris almost admired her single-mindedness, even as she stared at her in horror. 

“VOLTA!” Another voice boomed, startling Iris, her gaze swinging wildly to the fearsome red figure, striking a ferocious silhouette against the weak moonlight in the window. Swathed in rich, blood-red robes and a snakelike headdress was a round, imposing general, their ruddy face twisted into a sneer that revealed even rows of pointed teeth. “They haven’t eaten, you nitwit, they don’t want to hear about the food they missed. I, for one, would love to hear about the conquest of your lesson.” 

Iris blushed. “Conquest?”

“I think, perhaps...” Asra began, carefully. “We should start with introductions.” 

A boney, squirrelly man in the corner, his pallid skin slick with sweat – no, it was almost slimy, sticky – rose from his chair and approached them on a wobbly, halting gait. He wore the robes of a judge – Iris recognized him as the Praetor, who sometimes spoke to the people when announcing new laws or sanctions. His aura was viscous, oppressive, and oily; it made Iris want to cough, to back away as he approached her. 

"Ah...forgive the atrocious manners of my rougher colleagues. I am Praetor Vlastomil. I am in charge of the Vesuvian magistrate.” He held out a hand to shake; Iris took it, and couldn’t suppress a shudder. His skin was ice-cold, and felt just as slimy as it looked.

Vlastomil gestured to the first of his colleagues, the food-obsessed woman. “This lovely woman is Procurator Volta, in charge of the well-being of women, children, the poor, and the destitute of Vesuvia.” Iris bristled; it was shocking to hear there was someone specifically in charge of the wretched when so many in the city were starving and homeless. 

He gestured to the fearsome general. “This is Pontifex Vulgora. They are in charge of Vesuvia’s illustrious army.” Their smile cracked into a satisfied snarl.

He pointed now to a figure looming in the corner. Tall, angular, and thin, dressed in – Iris’s stomach turned – blood-splattered medical robes and long, long leather gloves, their hair wrapped into two massive, conical wimples, like the horns of some beast. Their mouth was covered in a surgical mask – they said nothing. Iris could not help but notice their eyes were blood red, and never blinked. She recognized them – from one of Julian’s memories – the one where she’d...she’d died.

“This is Quaestor Valdemar. They are in charge of the health and well-being of Vesuvia, and they also act as the palace doctor.” 

Iris took a deep breath as the Praetor now introduced Valerius, and searched the Quaestor, who regarded her with morbidly curious eyes. They did not hide from her, and what Iris saw made bile rise in her throat violently. They were obsessed with blood, gore, the machinations of death; they were imagining dissecting Asra, Nadia, Valerius, the servants, but the most vivid image was of her own body, cut apart, the insides laid bare, the Quaestor holding her cold heart in their hands...they remembered her, their eyes tracing Iris’s body hungrily. They remembered everything, just like Valerius did. They all did; they all knew what she was. 

Iris turned away, needing to calm herself as a full-body shudder threatened to turn her knees, her legs, to jelly, to reduce her to a pile of bloody slop on the floor, her body was too heavy, too burdensome, and still not enough, why did she feel as if she was untethered, floating outside of herself – Asra squeezed her hand in question as she moved it out of his, but she was afraid to open her mouth, to glance at him, lest she dissolve into tears then and there. She walked over to Nadia, who was still at the harp, watching the whole scene in front of them warily. Her garnet eyes fell on Iris and widened. 

“Iris, you look positively ghostly. Are you all right?” 

Iris swallowed. “I...it’s been a long day. I’m feeling a little overwhelmed.” She glanced back at Asra, making easy and pleasant conversation with the courtiers; Iris could see he was as disgusted by them as she was. His eyes darted to hers, and though the groove in his brow was anxious, deep, he gave her a small, playful smile. She felt a burst of adoration for him, even as her insides swirled, swelling and thick, in her gut.

She turned back to Nadia. She was playing the sad, sweet ballad again, delicate arpeggios and bittersweet chords floating above the gentle conversation on the other side of the room. “You were playing this song last time I saw you.” Iris said quietly. “It’s lovely.” 

Nadia pressed her lips together uncomfortably. “It is indeed, but I wish I knew why I remembered it. I cannot find sheet music for it, and yet...” she continued to play masterfully as the tone shifted slightly, more urgent now, the notes almost percussive. “And yet, it comes to me so easily. When I sit at the harp, it’s all I want to play.” 

Iris listened – the sound calmed her. She felt her panic settling, her throat relaxing. “I feel like I know it, too. But I can’t place it.”

The words came to Iris suddenly, unbidden, sweeping through her like a storm, her magic arcing through her like lightning. Her voice rose from her belly, warm, powerful, sweet as rain.“_Where do I put the ocean…?_” 

Nadia drew her breath to her sharply, her wide eyes locked on Iris now as she sang, line after line after line, throaty, humming low notes and floating, airy, high notes, the perfect accompaniment to Nadia’s playing. Iris could feel color rising in her cheeks – she had no idea where this song came from, where her voice had come from, she couldn’t remember ever singing like this, and yet, nothing felt more natural than to be singing with Nadia right now. 

The sound died around them, and Iris felt several pairs of eyes on her, but she couldn’t stop. The words tumbled from her now as her voice swelled; there was nothing she could do but sing. 

“_Tell me now, ‘cause I don’t know – let it die, or let it grow? How could anyone absorb this type of absence? Feel it all or feel nothing? Breathe it out or keep it in? Nothing screams so loud as unintended silence –_”

When they reached the end of the song, Nadia finishing with a practiced flourish of arpeggios, there was stunned silence. A warm hand circling her waist – it was Asra, pulling her close. She turned her face to him – to Iris’s shock, he was misty-eyed, his lips parted, like he wanted so badly to kiss her. 

She rested her head against his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm tighter around her, his chin on her head. The warmth of his skin, the feeling of silk on her cheek...she sank into another memory. 

_He was wearing silk, just like this, but light green, the cut different; they were curled up together on one of the couches in this very parlor, her head on his shoulder, his cheek against her forehead, his hand in her hair. She could tell she was a little drunk – her head lolled heavily on her neck as she nuzzled into Asra, and they were both holding a glass of effervescent white wine – Golden Goose. Together, they watched the scene unfolding around them. _

_ It was an intimate little party, a few of Nadia’s ladies and visiting nobles, friends of the court. Some sat at tables, playing cards, or around clusters of chairs playing charades or drinking games. Iris spotted a familiar silhouette across the room – Julian. He was telling a rather animated story to a small group of partygoers over a dice game, full of dramatic, long-limbed gestures; he had especially drawn the attention of a short, busty woman, her lips overdrawn fashionably and her hair dyed a vibrant sky blue, who watched his every move like a jackal starved. _

_The deep cushions of the couch sank as Nadia sat besides Iris, her knees pointed towards the couple, her feet coiled underneath her. She, too, was carrying a goblet of Golden Goose, and though she was still carrying herself with poise, her posture impeccable, her breath betrayed that she’d had several drinks, far more than Iris or Asra. She followed Iris’s gaze to Julian and giggled, leaning close to Iris and Asra. _

_“Our dear friend the doctor had best be careful. The Lady Inkar’s husband is a rather jealous man, even if she is quite the coquette.” Nadia gossiped, her full lips turning up only very slightly at the corners. “Once she has her jaws around a man, she does not let go.” _

_Iris snorted. “That’ll be fun to watch.” Suddenly, the lady Inkar burst out laughing, too loudly, and her hand clutched at Julian’s chest, making his cheeks redden. Her husband, across the room, looked up from his cards, his eyes ablaze._

_“Look, he’s blushing like a virgin.” Nadia giggled again, taking a sip of wine. _

_“Oh, Ilya’s no virgin.” Asra murmured with a wicked smirk. Inkar was now running her hand up his chest, dangerously close to the bare skin of his neck; he cast a sidelong glance away from her, his eyes falling on the three of them, desperate._

_“Oh no, he’s bitten off more than he can chew.” Iris tittered. _

_“Shall we rescue him?” Nadia asked, not waiting for their answer; she stood. _

_“Ilya, dear, will you join me at the organ?” She called over the party, her voice sweet, innocent. “I should like you to accompany me.” He practically flew across the room to the elegant piano where Nadia was waiting without so much as a backwards glance. _

_“Thank you.” He breathed to the Countess, who covered her mouth to hold back her laughter._

_“You’re not out of the woods yet, my dear.” She lilted quietly as she sat at the bench of the piano, wobbling only a little. “She may still pounce now that she’s got the scent of you.” _

_A servant appeared with a small instrument case, presenting it to Julian and flipping the clasps open – it was a gleaming vielle of deep, polished wood, replete with a freshly strung and rosined bow. Carefully, Julian took the instrument out of the case. _

_“I should have never told you that I play, Milady. I haven’t touched one of these in years.” Julian muttered. Still, he deftly placed the hollow under his chin, his skilled hands plucking at the strings, tuning them. When he drew the bow over the instrument’s neck, the sound sang sweetly through the room, cutting through the party’s soft din. For such a small instrument, its tone was low and sultry. _

_Iris sat next to Nadia on the bench, facing the other way, her feet kicked out toward the other partygoers, her bare toes peeking out from the long hemline of her flowing white shift. She wanted to see the doctor play, too, ever since he told his ridiculous story at dinner of entertaining the 13 Katayun consorts with his vielle-playing prowess. She could feel Asra’s presence behind her as he leaned his elbows on the side of the organ, clinking his glass against the polished ebony. He was just as curious as her. _

_“Have any requests, Milady?” Julian asked Nadia, bowing slightly, sweeping the bow in his hand with a dramatic flourish. _

_She grinned, and played a few dissonant chords against a simple melody, a song Iris knew very well – one of her favorites, even. It was a Prakran aubade, a lover’s lament. Julian’s eyes flashed with recognition, and he swept into the countermelody, the soft swells of his music pressing against the gentle raindrops of Nadia’s playing. It was no tall tale, what he told them at dinner – he was an artful musician, sensitive to the movements of his partner, his long fingers easily finding each note as he bent them gracefully over the instrument’s neck._

_“We need a singer.” Nadia laughed, after a few moments of playing. “It’s not the same without the lyrics.” _

_“You don’t want me to sing, I promise you.” Julian smirked, not losing his place. _

_Iris felt Asra’s lips in her hair. “Iris could sing. She loves this song.” _

_She blushed. “Asra, no. I’m not a singer.” _

_“I love the sound of your voice.” He murmured, just for her, stoking the little fire in her belly._

_“Oh, Iris, please do. It’ll be a jolly little trio.” Nadia laughed. “Worry not, it’s only friends here.” _

_How could she refuse when the Countess laughed so, when Julian’s eyes encouraged her on, with Asra’s soft voice in her ear? Iris paused, waiting for the right moment to enter. She took a deep breath, then she sang: “When I look up from my pillow I dream that you’re here with me...” _

_Her voice was shaky at first, wobbling a little on the lower notes, but as she sang more and more, her voice grew stronger, sonorous, the words clear in her throat. It could not be said that she had a perfect voice, but it was delicious and powerful, fitting for such a moving song. Nadia and Julian were both struck, but they kept playing. _

_“I go to sleep...and imagine that you’re there with me...”_

_Asra’s lips were still in her hair – she could feel a loving smile curl against her scalp as her voice rose through the chorus. She closed her eyes, very aware of everyone’s gaze on her – she could even hear the conversations dying down in the party around her, and still, she kept singing. She was surprised at how good it felt to sing like this. _

_The music shifted – Julian and Nadia loosed a wave of pizzicato notes in near perfect unison during the bridge, and Iris felt her voice ripple through the crescendoing lyrics. When they finally reached the final verse, Nadia was playing jazzy, improvised flourishes against Julian’s sweeping melody, and Iris’s voice was vibrating, trembling, beautiful. _

_“Oh, when morning comes again I have the loneliness you left me...each day drags by until finally my time descends on me...I go to sleep...” _

_When the song ended with a descending set of gentle chords and soft hums, there was a pregnant pause as silence filled the parlor. When Iris opened her eyes, she saw that a small crowd of partygoers had gathered around them. They broke now into soft applause and a drunken litany of requests. _

_Besides her, Nadia was beaming. “Iris, I can’t believe you were hiding that lovely voice away. Sing more for us.” She gushed. Over Nadia’s shoulder, Julian’s gray eyes twinkled, and he winked playfully at her. _

_“You’re a woman of many hidden talents, aren’t you?” He teased her. _

_For the rest of the night, the three of them performed, sweet love songs, moving laments, aubades, a serenade or two, even a few rousing bar hymns near the end of the night. Asra brought all three of them drinks, happy to just sit back and watch as Iris grew more and more confident in her singing voice, that precious thing he savored, normally just for him, overheard while she cooked, bathed, did the books for the shop. Her shyness had been so sweet, but her boldness now was enchanting; Iris didn’t need her clairvoyance to see that he was aroused by watching her sing, the way his eyes darkened, soft and animal. _

_When the dawn light kissed the night sky and began to streak through the windows, they realized they had been playing through the night – Iris was fully drunk now, but she glowed, even as she stumbled over lyrics, fell into giggles, and her voice cracked from overuse. _

_Asra wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “I think it’s time we went to bed.” He said to her quietly, voice streaked through with delicious need. _

_She hiccuped, and stood, stumbling forward a little. She was positively beaming when she turned to Nadia and Julian, leaning into Asra’s shoulder. “I didn’t think this would be this fun. Let’s play together again soon, please?” _

_Nadia’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, dear Iris, I think I can arrange that.”_

Then – a burst of applause: it was Procurator Volta, tears streaming from her good eye, joined enthusiastically by the Praetor. “Brava! Inspired! It has been so long since I’ve heard such beautiful music, Magician Iris!” Volta sobbed. The other courtiers joined her, reluctantly, the room echoing with a smattering of applause. 

Iris blinked back her surprise, her eyes wide, as Asra pulled her closer, lips turning against her cheek, his eyelashes fluttering against her temple, as if he was holding back tears. Nadia was still wide-eyed, shock painting her features – she took a little breath, her fingers coming to her collarbone, as if she needed something to touch, to tether her to the world before she was ripped away from it. 

“Yes, Iris, thank you for that bit of song.” She murmured, her eyes lingering on the two of them before turning to the Courtiers. “Is it perhaps time that we discuss what I summoned you here for?” 

It was Valerius, lip upturned, wine swirling in his glass, that spoke. “I’ve briefed the others on the law you drafted, and we’ve prepared our questions and objections.”

“Excellent.” Nadia turned to Asra and Iris. “We are discussing the proposed laws to the Vesuvian justice system, based on our conversation the other day, Iris. I have your Justice card, your reading, to thank for this.” 

“Indeed.” The Praetor murmured, unamused. “We will need witnesses to the motion. I am sure that’s why you and your master are here as well.” 

“It seemed only right.” Nadia said, her smile warm, though Iris could see the fine tremor of her fingers as she picked up her wineglass, filled with deep gold Honeyed Thistle, and took an almost unseemly large drink. “Your questions, then, if you are ready.” 

Vulgora’s voice rose, aggressive and grating. “Why can’t we do trial by combat, as we used to?” 

“Because that is more barbaric than no trial at all.” Nadia answered coldly. 

“And where will we house all of these trials, Countess? We do not have a courthouse that can handle the volume of the entire Vesuvian population.” Consul Valerius sneered. 

“It is true, we do not have a courthouse, but the coliseum stands empty. It can hold the entire city and more. It will be perfect for this purpose – rather than being a symbol of brutality, it will be a symbol of righteousness.” 

“Will we be doing a public trial for even petty crimes, Milady?” Vlastomil questioned, his voice slick.

“No. For now, public trials will only be for crimes against the Vesuvian government, and not for private trials.” Nadia’s brows raised. 

The onslaught of questions continued, and Iris found herself zoning out, her gaze sliding over the portraits that lined the papered walls. They seemed to be of Prakran royalty – a fearsome, full-figured older woman in sparkling white, a man dressed in all black beside her, eyes glinting playfully – and other nobility, like the crown Sheba of Saba, in full Abioye regalia, the Regent of Aunamendia, the tiny Duchess in his arms, the infant’s head haloed with ink-black ringlets. 

And then, in the corner – a curious portrait, unlike anything else on the wall. Pale, pale skin, clear blue eyes, icy blond hair piled on top of her head in an intricate updo, curls and loops and braids and tendrils loosed, dressed in a simple black dress with poet’s sleeves, a gauzy collar like the wings of fairies. Iris stepped out of Asra’s arms as if in a trance, running her fingers over the opulently gilded frame. The woman’s eyes were narrowed, her features sharp and pointed, her disappointment devastating, almost palpable. 

Iris was helpless to the heat rushing over her back, her skin prickling in alarm - 

_She wheeled around, her hand fisted in her dress – she was still not used to the finery of the palace, the weightless gossamer lace, the ruffles of it at her collar, the way the pleats laid perfectly against her hips, tailored to her curves. And now – that lace ripped loudly under her fingers as she started, indignantly, at who dared touch her without her permission. _

_“Careful, pretty fool.” Lucio purred, a wide, wicked smile showing all of his teeth, the canines sharp – the rumor was he had them filed. “That lace is expensive. Should that dress come out of your stipend, hm?”_

_Iris scoffed, glancing him up and down, his shimmery, white satin suit, platinum chains and crystals and pearls looped about his waist, dangling from his neck, his bare chest, his bloodied eyes lined with his careful slashes of kohl. “And how many meals for the hungry could your suit have bought, Lucy?” She shrugged her shoulder out from his touch, the golden claws, touch light enough not to break the skin, but insistent enough to make her shudder. _

_Lucio’s eyes narrowed, even as his smile widened, twisted – his gaze darted up to the portrait above them, the woman’s disapproving gaze boring into them both. “You remind me of her, you know.” He mused. “She was a frigid bitch, too.” _

_“What do you want, Lucy?” Iris hissed, her voice barely audible over the low hum of the party, the dignitaries floating about in their opulent furs, their silks, their dripping jewels. _

_Lucio chuckled. “My Lord, or Count Lucio, will do.” His smirk dropped just a little. “I know you’re new to the complexities of palace etiquette, so I’ll let it slide this one time.” _

_Iris found her lips slipping into a grin. “You forget, Lucy, I’m not bound by etiquette like the rest of your court.” Her gaze slipped back down to his suit, and she carefully took the lapel between her fingers, rubbing, assessing the fabric. “Perhaps I should tell your guests how much your fancy suit cost? My dress? Nadi’s dress? At this gala for your friends who help you bankroll your selfish research, while whole sectors of your city, your realm, starve, die of plague?” _

_Lucio’s eyes glinted dangerously, and for a moment, Iris thought he would lash out, strike her – she’d never seen him hit anyone herself, but she’d seen the bruises, on chambermaids and porters, their arms, their faces, not to mention... – but his touch was gentle, careful, teasing, as he wrapped his human hand around hers, a little too tightly for her liking. _

_“Are you sure we can’t find a more suitable arrangement for you?” Lucio’s voice was low and sultry as he lifted her hand to his lips, kissing not the knuckles, but the warm meat of her palm. “I can think of…several other positions that would suit you better than being Noddy’s Fool.” _

_Iris ripped her hand from his grasp now, heat swirling through her, anger, repulsion, and something shameful, embarrassing, just as hot, just as Nadia appeared at Lucio’s shoulder, over-full wineglass in hand. “Iris, dear, are you ready?” _

_“Ah, yes, it is almost time for the entertainment.” Lucio purred, smoothing down his rumpled lapel. “Break a leg, pretty fool.” _

_Iris could feel his eyes boring into her even as Nadia wrapped her arm around Iris’s shoulder, leading her to the gleaming piano. _

“Are there any other questions? Are you ready for the vote?” Nadia’s voice pulled Iris out of her memory, another hand on her back, warm and curious, even as Iris shuddered. She could feel Asra’s eyes, imploring, begging her to turn to him, but she couldn’t bear to look at him, anger still simmering under her skin; she turned her gaze to the Courtiers, circled around Nadia like vultures, their expressions sour. 

“One more, Countess.” An even, grating voice from the corner practically whispered; it was the first time the Quaestor had spoken all night. “Who will you appoint to new roles should we choose not to vote for this? Clearly, there is no one in the city who has our experience, nor who is as aware of the...skeletons in the royal family’s closet.” 

At this, Nadia sneered. “If you are referring of the actions of my dearly departed husband, I do not care if you speak of his behavior to the public now. In fact, I believe they should know how abhorrent he was in life. And if you believe you are the only competent choices I have, all I ask is that you look at the state of the city. Infrastructure crumbling, the poor starving, children living in the streets, prisoners rotting, no cure for the plague found. You have all failed your charges.”

She squared her shoulders. “Iris, Asra, we are voting now. Please count the votes and tell us the verdict. All in favor?” Nadia raised her hand, along with Volta, and surprisingly, Valerius. 

Nadia’s mouth curled into a triumphant smile. “All opposed?” Vulgora and Vlastomil raised their hands.

“Any abstentions?” Valdemar raised their hand, almost imperceptibly. 

“Three yes, two no, one abstention. The motion passes.” Asra said quietly. Iris couldn’t keep herself from smiling. Even if Julian was caught, even if he was brought to trial...Nadia might have just saved him. The Vesuvian public loved him, at least enough to not want to see him hang.

All six of the chamber signed the scroll that contained the particulars of the new law, as drafted by Nadia, along with Iris and Asra on the witnesses line. Iris felt a small thrill as a porter whisked the scroll away so the announcement could be drafted. 

Nadia waved her hands at the courtiers. “You are dismissed. Thank you for your time today.” The courtiers, glowering, filed out of the parlor, no doubt to convene elsewhere to discuss. 

Once the door closed, Nadia turned to Iris. “I apologize, Iris, I would not have summoned you here if I knew you were not feeling well. Or was it the courtiers that made you feel ill?” 

Iris bit her lip as she straightened; Asra’s arm slid, warm and liquid, from her shoulder to her waist. “Your courtiers… they’re unsettling, to say the least.” 

“Indeed. I find working with them both appalling and frightening. I relish the thought of replacing them after the masquerade.” Nadia surveyed Iris thoughtfully. “You really shocked all of us with that bit of song, though. I had no idea you could sing like that.” 

Iris’s stomach twisted. “I’m not sure what came over me, Nadia. I apologize.” 

“Oh, it’s quite all right – in fact, I think that little round of entertainment swung Volta into our favor, the fickle imp. She was very impressed.” Nadia raised her eyebrows now. “Unintended, but it worked out well for us.” 

Asra cleared his throat. “I think Iris might feel better after some dinner, Countess.” 

“Please, dear Asra, call me Nadia – and yes, absolutely. Let’s get the two of you fed.”

*******

It was nearly midnight before Asra and Iris could return to her room – Nadia sat with them during their dinner, showering them with questions, about their shop, their favorite foods, their favorite things about Vesuvia, their relationship. The conversation was pleasant, enjoyable even, though Iris was exhausted. It felt natural to talk to Nadia about these things, which made sense – the more memories Iris recovered, the more it seemed like she and Nadia had been very close.

Iris had an inkling that Nadia might be regaining memories of her own. She asked Asra about his time in the castle, probing gently – Asra responded in kind about his work, though not of his and Nadia’s friendship, or his and Julian’s. Iris was fascinated to hear that the majority of his work had focused around mass protection spells and training programs for healers – restorative magic seemed to be one of the only effective methods of providing comfort to the victims, aside from the costly administration of morphine. Asra’s eyes lit up as he talked about it, stirring a small fire of pride in Iris.

Now, in the guestroom, it was just Iris and Asra – she sank slowly onto the pouf and kicked off her heels, carefully coiling the belt from her waist into the jewelry box on the vanity. Asra fell into the bed with a contented sigh. 

“How’s your head, Iris? Two memories in a day...”

“Four, actually.” Iris corrected him gently, as she brushed the wax out of her hair. “I saw one this morning, or part of one at least. It was interrupted. And then...” She paused. “But my head’s fine. I’m just tired.” She turned to him – he was sprawled out on the bed, his head resting on his arms. She laid down next to him, settling her head on the flat of his chest. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. 

“I haven’t...I haven’t heard you sing like that in nearly five years.” He said quietly. “Even after...you came back, you never sang. If you did, it immediately sent you into a spiral.” He pressed his cheek against the top of her head. “You used to sing all the time, Iris, from when you were just a kid. I loved the sound of your voice. Hearing you today...really shook me.” 

She clutched a little tighter to Asra. “It felt so natural. The words just came to me.” 

“You probably wrote the song yourself. You and Nadia often performed together, and after a while, you started to write songs of your own. Though...” He swallowed now, his voice going dry. “I’ve never heard that song before. You must have written it after I left.” 

“Where do I put the ocean...” Iris murmured. “An aubade. For your absence.” They were silent a moment, as Iris listened to Asra’s steady heartbeat, the exact same rhythm as hers, always. “I was singing in one of the memories I saw. We were at a party here at the palace, and I was singing while Nadia and Julian played. A little crowd gathered, we did requests. It was fun.” 

“I remember that night.” Asra’s eyes were starry, and soft. “I had never seen you so happy. I just watched you, listened to you all night. You were all I saw...you were so beautiful.” His gaze darkened a little now. “But you started working at the palace right after that.” 

Iris hummed thoughtfully. “As Nadia’s Fool.”

He stiffened a little, turning to her. “How did you…?” 

Iris swallowed, darting her eyes away. “Another memory. With Lucio. He mentioned it.” 

Asra was silent a moment, before threading his ringed fingers through his hair. “I was against it. The palace was dangerous, even with… with your protections. But you wanted to be closer to me, and I was here all the time. You wanted to help with the plague; you felt helpless sitting at home. There was nothing I could do to stop you.” 

“Protections?” Iris implored him, thinking of what she had said to Lucio. _You forget, Lucy..._

He sighed, and closed his eyes again. “It’s an old, old Prakran tradition. Nobles would employ Fools to be part of their courts – they would be entertainers and companions, but more importantly, they were allowed to say whatever they wanted. They could call out hypocrisy and corruption without fearing for their lives. They helped to balance the absolute power of the nobility; they would often act in the interests of the people.” Asra sighed. “And after you became part of the court, you and Nadia were inseparable – you were her confidant, and her friend. And you...you weren’t afraid to speak the truth.”

He laughed now, the shake of his chest ripping through Iris. “You hated Lucio, and you called him out any chance you got. In some ways, it was glorious to have you around. You could say what I was thinking, what Ilya was thinking.” He pulled her closer to him. “And I saw you more. We could spend our evenings together, sleep together every night.” He exhaled slowly. “But it also put you directly in Lucio’s sights. He couldn’t do anything to you, to punish you, but it didn’t...” He stopped. “I’m sorry. I’ve probably already said too much.” 

Iris furrowed her brow – her head did hurt now, a singe right between her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but there was a knock at the sliding door. Iris bounded up to get it. 

It was Portia, her expression twisted with worry. “Iris, I’m sorry for the hour, I would have given this to you sooner...” She swept into the room; Asra sat up in the bed as Iris snapped the door shut behind her. “...but I had to decipher it first. I didn’t realize it was for you.” 

Portia handed Iris a deck of standard, four-suited playing cards. Iris furrowed her brow as she opened it and thumbed through them. Immediately, she saw there were too many 2s, too many 9s, too many aces. 

“It’s a message from Ilya. I picked it up from Tilde this afternoon while I was running errands.” She unfolded a piece of paper from her bosom and handed it to Iris, biting her lip. Her handwriting was almost as illegible as her brother’s, but if Iris squinted, could just make out the deciphered code, the message. 

_Iris - _

_I’m not a good man – I don’t want to hurt you. Don’t look for me._

_J _

Iris’s felt as if her heart had been coated in ice. Her gaze rose to the redhead in front of her; her lips were trembling. “What...what does it mean, Portia?” 

“I don’t know!” Portia exclaimed, her voice breaking. “It seems like he’s breaking up with you, but just two days ago he was looking at you like he was absolutely star-crossed...this is classic Ilya, melodramatic as ever...” 

Asra rose from the bed and peered over Iris’s shoulder at the note – his gaze darkened. “Oh, Ilya...” he sighed. 

“I have to find him.” Iris’s heart was pounding in her ears now, urgent, deafening. She grabbed her bag from the bed, slinging it ungracefully over her shoulders; she moved towards the door, but Asra grabbed her shoulder. 

“Iris, you’re exhausted. You don’t even know where he is.” He said quietly, calmly, his voice infuriatingly even. “What will you solve by finding him tonight?” 

Iris turned to him, tears streaming down her face. “I’m not a good man? Don’t look for me? Asra, what if he tries to kill himself again?” She felt her voice rising in her throat, cracked and panicked. She saw Julian’s face from her memory, playing the vielle, the light in his eyes as they performed together; she heard his laughter in the Raven, his shoulders shaking; she felt his arm around her shoulders, warm and protective, his lips on her neck. 

“What?” Portia said, her face going white. “He wouldn’t...”

Before Iris could respond, Asra extended his hand in a fluid, practiced movement, fingers snapping in Portia’s direction; her eyes glowed soft purple-gray for a moment, then returned to normal. Iris could see his fingers shaking; he’d cast an obliteration spell, and they were incredibly taxing, even for the smallest memories. 

“I’m sorry, I missed that, what did you say?” Portia said, coming to. 

“Thank you for bringing this note to us, Portia, but it’s very late, and we’re both exhausted – let’s talk about it in the morning.” Asra smiled kindly to her, and though Iris sneered at him, Portia curtsied and left the room, her eyes darting curiously between the two of them.

As soon as she left, Iris wrenched herself away from Asra’s touch, her skin boiling. “How dare you?” 

Asra’s expression was still uncannily calm. “You want to scar her with stories of her brother attempting to take his life, Iris? What good would that do?” 

Iris’s lip curled. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said it in front of her, but it’s the truth, Asra! Aren’t you….” She gasped, her heart thudding. “Are you so cold that you aren’t worried about him?” 

Asra’s eyes widened, his lips parted – Iris saw something skitter behind his eyes, something like tears, but like a spark, it was gone. “Of course I’m worried, Iris, but you’re not thinking straight. We can figure this out in the morning.” He held his arms out to her. “It matters to me, and not just because it matters to you. I want Ilya to be happy. I want you to be happy.” 

Iris was ready to fight, ready to scream and rage and rip Asra apart, but at the sight of him, his arms extended out to him, his eyes open and warm and just as exhausted as she – she remembered everything he told her in the cave, of how he’d loved her secretly for so long, protected her, waited until she was ready, ready to make the decision for herself. With a little tremble, she walked into his arms and let him embrace her, her fire extinguished. He kissed her forehead, then gently led her to the bed, where he helped her out of her dress. She slipped between the covers, and Asra soon followed, extinguishing the lamps with a graceful flick of his wrist. 

His body was so warm – Iris couldn’t help but curl into him, wrap her arms around his torso and deeply inhale his smoky, cinnamon-y scent. Her eyelids were already heavy. “Asra...have you ever done that with me?” 

“What?” he asked, his voice soft, sleepy. 

“Erased a memory.” 

He hesitated, his chest rising and sinking with deep breaths. “I have. Not in years. When you were first trying to regain your memories...I had to. You were always in pain. It wasn’t easy for me.”

Iris was silent for a moment. “...and I wouldn’t ever know it, would I? If you did it again.” 

“Iris.” Asra pressed his lips to hers, letting the kiss linger. “Please...please, trust me. I want to help you find the light, not obscure it.” She responded by kissing him back, knowing it was true, painfully, bittersweetly true. Soon, sleep followed them down.

*******

Her dreams grew stranger and stranger.

A loud rap at the door roused Iris from her sleep with a jolt. She was in one of the guestrooms at the palace, naked – it was steeped with familiarity, a comforting presence, and in the organized chaos, Iris recognized her belongings along with Asra’s. 

It was Asra who sat up, rubbing his eyes. She made to sit up, too, but he laid a hand on her knee and gave her a cautioning look. The knocking was incessant, almost violent, and a voice soon followed. 

“I have summons for the Fool to the Count’s private chambers!” The chamberlain called, urgently but quietly. 

Asra’s face contorted into a sneer. He stood quickly, shrugged a robe over his shoulders, and strode to the door, wrenching it open. 

The chamberlain scrambled into the room – Iris pulled the sheets closer around her body. “I apologize for the intrusion, sir Magician, but the Count was insistent…” 

“It’s the middle of this night.” Asra said firmly, his gaze hardening. “This is incredibly inappropriate.” 

“I can assure you the Count is not alone...he has guests in his chambers. He wishes the Fool join them to entertain them. They would like her to perform.” 

Asra opened his mouth, but it was Iris who spoke. “Let me dress. Please leave us a moment.” 

The chamberlain bowed deeply and closed the door behind him. 

Asra turned to Iris, who was already crossing the room to her wardrobe. “Iris, you can refuse...”

“I won’t show him I’m afraid, Asra.” She pursed her lips, considering her options, before selecting a simple white gown with flowing sleeves and lace embroidery that required no clasps. She slipped it over her head and adjusted it in the mirror, flipping her long hair out over her shoulders, before turning to Asra. He had dressed, too. 

“I’m coming with you.” He insisted firmly. Iris placed a hand on his chest.

“You know he can’t do anything to me.” Iris said. “Nadia would have his head. The people would draw and quarter them.” Iris’s eyes steeled, fiery. “And you know I’d gut him first. Still...” Asra wrapped his hands around hers and gently kissed her fingertips. “I’d rather walk into a lion’s den in a meat dress than go to Lucy’s chambers alone.” 

Together, they slid open the door to where the chamberlain was waiting. He regarded the two of them for a moment, then turned without a word and led them through the palace to the main staircase, up the dark gray marble stairs to Lucio’s wing. 

Iris’s skin bristled with goosebumps – she had never been to this part of the palace before, and the aura here was thick, viscous, hot – choking. The chamberlain stopped them at an ornately carved black door. 

He opened the door and bowed, announcing their entrance. “The Fool Iris, and her mentor, the Magician Asra.” 

It was a sitting room of sorts, full of overstuffed red velvet couches and high-backed armchairs. There was a gleaming grand piano in the corner, though Iris could never imagine Lucio with the patience to learn to play. There was also a roaring black marble fireplace, sputtering now with magic carmine flames. 

Lucio, lounging in a large, overstuffed leather chair, was entertaining a small audience of his Courtiers and guests of the palace, ambassadors to the southern hordes, clad in fur pelts, their eyes darkened and slashed with kohl. Nadia was also with them – Iris realized with a start that she was completely, utterly drunk. 

Nadia rose wobbily, her hand outstretched towards the magicians; she was completely mortified. “Iris, dear, I’m sorry...” 

“Sit down, Noddy, you’re embarrassing yourself.” Lucio snapped. She sank back into her chair ungracefully, her eyes never leaving Iris’s. “My lovely wife was just telling us how much she’s enjoyed the pretty fool’s company in these last few months, and I wanted to get a little of the action for myself.” 

Lucio’s eyes twinkled and roved to Iris, and she cleared her mind, quieting her clairvoyance, knowing that his psyche was a depth in which she did not wish to plunge. His eyes fell on Asra, looking him up and down with the same hungry eyes. “I see you brought your little boyfriend with you.” 

“_Har du mannlige tryllekunstnere her i Nord?_” One of the southern ambassadors said, their voice rising with curiosity. 

“It’s common, actually.” A syrupy voice explained from the back of the room. Iris’s eyes darted to the figure, leaning leisurely against the mantle – a middle-aged woman, sylphlike and sharp-featured, no more than five feet tall, her honey-blonde hair piled on top of her head in an intricate braid. She wore all black, a suit with rows of polished buttons and puffy sleeves, a massive ruby against her breastbone – in her hand was a glass of red, red wine. Her full lips were pursed, unamused, even as her cool gray eyes pierced through Iris and Asra. “Though to call this one a man is not...quite accurate.” 

“You’re right, Consul Valerius, as always.” Lucio purred. “Asra’s always been one to...willfully defy convention.” His eyes flitted to Iris. “And why is he joining us tonight, pretty fool?”

Iris smiled evenly. “Decorum required me to have a chaperone, Lucy. Asra was happy to accompany me.”

“This request is rather unusual, Lucio.” Asra frowned. Lucio waved a hand dismissively. 

“No matter...you’re here now. Iris, I’ve heard you’ve been writing a song about me.” A twisted grin snaked across his face, showing off his beastly canines, a wolf’s smile.“I should love to hear it.” 

Iris’s acquiescing smile didn’t waver. “Unfortunately, it’s not yet complete. I should like for you to hear the whole thing when it’s finished.” 

Lucio tutted. “Perfection is the enemy of great, I’m told. I’ll hear it now.” 

Iris couldn’t keep her lip from curling. “Very well. Nadia, would you accompany me on the piano?” 

Nadia hiccuped. “I’m afraid I won’t be of much use to you tonight...” 

Iris considered this with a blank expression, then nodded. She looked to Asra to give him a reassuring wink, but she couldn’t keep her voice from wavering ever so slightly. “I’ll do what I can, then.” 

She moved to the front of the sitting area, took a deep breath, and squared her shoulders. She sang a few bars of looping, sonorant ooos, spinning her hand in the air in front of her mouth. At the end of the phrase she closed her fist, and then opened it with a flourish – the sound of her own billowing voice echoed through the room, making resonant, layered chords that repeated over and over. 

She then sang a phrase, kneading the words, stretching them across the same number of bars as the base vocals, her hands outstretched in front of her. “_There’s always a way to change..._” When she finished, she lifted the sound into the room, and it spun softly through the air, layering with the chords. 

Iris opened her mouth and began to sing in earnest, her stormy voice swelling through the room. 

“_Be leery of the things you want /_  
_You can’t predict what’s coming_ /  
_Unlock your fingers from my hair_ /  
_You never see the things you have_ /  
_Slice up and not across when_ /  
_You’re trying to make the deepest cut..._”

While she sang she stared Lucio straight in the face, her gaze practically unblinking, while her lips formed the words, and, at some points, stretched into a sneer. She gestured widely with her arms, framed her face with her hands, and at one point, ran her hands languorously through her hair, rolling her neck, a consummate performer.

“_Be careful of what you deserve /_  
_You can’t predict what’s coming_ /  
_Unlock your fingers from my throat_ /  
_You’ll never get the things you want_ /  
_Slice up and not across when_ /  
_You’re trying to make the deepest cut…_”

With a soft gasp, Iris halted the sounds of her voice, then swept into a curtsy. Lucio’s guests burst into applause, but Lucio was unmoved, his mouth twisted into a sneer. 

“Tell me, pretty fool, how is this song about me?” 

At this, Iris laughed, a little cruelly. “Where’s the fun in me explaining it to you?” She raised a thick eyebrow at him, couldn’t keep the smirk off her face. “The joke’s better if you don’t get it...”

Lucio fumed for a moment, then smiled imperiously, his eyes narrowed. “I see why you like her, Nadia. She is as impetuous as she is insolent.” He leered at Iris, and she felt as if she had been throw naked into a snowstorm, but she met his gaze, unwavering. “You are dismissed.” 

She dipped into another curtsy, and saw Asra bowing beside her in her periphery. Without meeting Lucio’s gaze again, they swept out of the room, the door slamming shut behind them. 

Silently, they descended the stairs to the main hall – it was there that Iris fell into Asra’s arms, her shoulders shaking, her heart pounding. She gasped for air as her throat constricted, and Asra pulled her closer, his lips in her hair. 

“You were amazing.” He whispered, rubbing her back. “You’re safe now...”

*******

It was still dark when Asra woke. Iris slept restlessly in his arms – she twitched and tossed her head, muttering and grunting softly. A spark of alarm arced through him – he hadn’t seen her like this since she would recover memories in her dreams. He leaned down and kissed her cheek, quietly casting a spell over her for restful slumber.

Once her breathing slowed and her body relaxed into the soft bed, he gently disentangled himself from her arms and rose. He dressed quietly; Faust, from her post in the chaise, raised her head questioningly. 

“Stay with her, Faust.”Asra whispered to the small snake, kissing her head. Faust flicked her tongue against his cheek a few times, before coiling back into sleep. 

He sat now at the desk; he sighed, and slowly scratched a note out to Iris – simple and sweet. He folded it in half and sealed it with soft kiss before he placed on her nightstand, beneath her Tarot deck. He placed one last, lingering kiss on her cheek. 

He grabbed his bag, the strap secure on his back; into this, he slipped Portia’s note, the deck of cards, and, with a moment of hesitation, his Tarot deck, which was laid out beside Iris’s. Then, silently, without so much as a backwards glance, he stepped out into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MOC: *writes three scenes with singing* *never wants to write singing again* 
> 
> Songs ref'd are, in order:
> 
>   * Violents, Monica Martin - How It Left
>   * Sia - I Go To Sleep (Pretenders cover)
>   * Circa Survive - Premonition of the Hex
> 
> You can find all of them on my [Oracle Refs](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4PeVgmjtRBkH2gPf6UfmJf) playlist on Spotify. There's a [Master](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/11blweUtQklVHHtxeAP11U) playlist as well.
> 
> See y'all in Strength. <3


	5. Strength, Part 1: Who Truly Stuck The Knife In First?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** The xx - Fiction **
> 
> _ CW: Allusions to rape and noncon, excessive drinking _

When Iris woke the next morning, her head pounded savagely. She groaned, and rolled over in the bed, searching for Asra’s comforting warmth, but she only found cold bedsheets. Her eyes flew open; Asra very rarely woke before her. But he wasn’t there.

She sat up violently, and clutched at her head; she surveyed the room and found it empty – his bag and clothes were gone. His Tarot deck was gone – in its place was her deck, the one he had made just for her. Her heart sank – it was not unlike Asra to up and leave, but he had promised they would address Julian’s note this morning. And if he took his deck...there was no telling how long he would be gone. She reached for her bedside table to reread the code, but the deck and Portia’s note was gone, too – in their place was another note, folded neatly. It pulsed with Asra’s energy. 

Iris ripped it open with shaking hands – it was painfully short. “_I went to find Ilya. Focus on finding the light. I’ll make sure he’s safe, and bring him back to you. xoxo, Asra._” 

Iris started blankly at the note, eyes wide; the words rattled around in her head, but didn’t settle, instead droning, buzzing, like angry bees, until her ears were echoing with her anger. She closed her eyes, tried to center her breath, seven counts in, seven counts out, but all she could see was Asra’s face last night when he held out his arms to her, the little furrow of his brow as he kept his voice even. Liar. Trickster. Manipulator. He could soothe her with his pretty words, touch her with his honeyed fingers, and then turn around without batting an eyelash and…

Iris yelped – her fingertips sizzled with pain, heat licked her cheeks. Her eyes exploded open; the note in front of her aflame, catching like tinder, curling into ash even as Iris desperately tried to shake it extinguished. The cinders dropped harmlessly onto the bedsheets, like kohl from a drunken night, stained and ground in like a scar in the silk.

There was a soft knock on the door, followed by a soft voice. “Iris?” It was Portia. 

Iris, still shocked, her hand trembling, her fingertips smarting, magicked the door open, pulling the sheets around her tightly. Portia rushed in and shut the door behind her, her arms laden with towels and Iris’s clothes for the day. 

“Did you and Asra talk about the message?” She breathed, unfurling the clothes over the changing screen. It was a long, white – Iris winced – dress, with an elegant scoop neck and flowing bell sleeves, the neckline and sleeves covered in extravagant lace embroidery. Her stomach turned – it was the dress from her dream, the one she wore into Lucio’s chambers. It made her head split with pain again – she couldn’t help but cradle her forehead between her thumb and three fingers, massaging gently.

“...Asra went to find Julian. I have work to do here today.” Iris said softly, not succeeding in masking her pain in her voice, nor her seeping anger. 

“I know that look.” Portia said, with furrowed brow. “Milady sometimes wakes with splitting headaches too. Can I get you anything for it? I could have the kitchen send up some willowbark and feverfew tea.” 

Iris shook her head. “I’ll be fine after I eat. Is the Countess taking breakfast in the dining room this morning?” 

“She is! Are you planning on joining her?” 

Iris nodded, and Portia smiled brightly. “Excellent! This dress doesn’t have any tricky clasps, so I’ll leave you to it.” She paused. “Keep me updated on Ilya, please? I can’t help but feel like he’s getting himself into more trouble.” 

Iris smirked. “Trouble follows that man like a faithful dog. As soon as I know anything, you’ll know too.”

Portia chuckled, but Iris could tell she was still worried. With a little curtsy, she left Iris to dress. 

Iris stood and crossed the room to the changing screen, running her hands gently over the silk of the dress – it felt just as it did when she slipped it over her shoulders in her dream, slinky and cool. 

That wasn’t just a dream, Iris realized; that was a memory. She bit her lip. Iris understood now what Asra meant when he said being Nadia’s Fool put her in Lucio’s sights – she was untouchable to him, and that made her all the more irresistible. The way he looked at her after she sang – it was full of contempt, but also the same sick desire she saw in him before. He wanted her as conquest, a display of his power. The thought of his hands on her body, the human warmth, the inhuman chill, his breath on her neck – a heat burst through her blood, heavy and thick, and Iris shuddered. 

She dressed, letting the soft, smooth fabric breath over her skin. It was comfortable, and highlighted her shoulders and collarbones – the hemline in the front came to the mid-calf, and the back fell all the way to the floor, revealing her ankles and feet. Portia had left her another pair of slippers, this time of gold fabric and shimmering embroidered thread, which Iris toed on; it was astounding how quickly she had become accustomed to wearing shoes. 

After washing her face with the camellia oil and moisturizing with the tea cream, Iris found a pair of earrings in the jewelry box, thin discs of mottled marble with large gold fasteners. She thought about playing with the rouge and powder that Primula and Ami left her, but her stomach growled. 

A few minutes later (and a few wrong turns), she arrived at the doors to the dining room, and the porter announced her, ushering her in. 

Nadia was seated at the head of the table, already tucking into steamed fish and jammy eggs on rice and greens; at her elbow was a large stack of papers that she reviewed through a pair of small, oblong spectacles. She was wearing a white lace blouse with dramatic sleeves and high-waisted velvet black pants with spectacular ruffles around the knees and calves, and her long hair was piled mile-high on her head in a braided updo. At the porter’s voice, her eyes darted up to Iris, and she smiled, fondly. 

“Good morning, dear Iris. It’s a pleasure to have your company this morning.” She gestured to the seat next to her, and Iris sank down heavily. Her head still throbbed; absentmindedly, she stroked her temple as a servant brought her over her own fragrant plate of fish and rice, along with a teapot and a steaming cup of tea – Iris smiled gratefully as the scent of willowbark and feverfew drifted up to her nose. 

“Portia tells me that Asra has left for the day, but you will be with us continuing your investigation.” The corners of Nadia’s dark lips turned into a small smile. “What is it you intend to do today?”

Iris considered this as she took a bite of flaky fish – she hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I’m not sure. I could spend more time in the library – I sense that my work there is not quite done. But other than that...” Her voice trailed off. 

Nadia nodded, Iris’s answer acceptable. “I should love to join you today, but there is much to be done to prepare Lucio’s wing for the masquerade. It has not been touched since the last masquerade – it will need to be turned down completely.” 

At this, Iris sputtered on her tea. “Wait...does that include the bedroom? It was searched when the crime was originally investigated, right?” 

Nadia shook her head. “The good doctor confessed. There was no need for investigation. I fell into my sleep shortly after, and the Courtiers left it undisturbed.”

“Do you mean to say that _the scene of the crime is untouched_?” Iris asked, a little incredulously.

Nadia blinked at her. “Why, yes, I suppose that is true.” 

Iris set her fork down with a clink, her headache surging with a vengeance as she bit back her tongue. “Can you hold off on cleaning Lucio’s wing for a day or two, then? I’d like to...” She swallowed hard, shivering at the thought of going up those steps again. “There may still be some answers there.”

Nadia nodded, and summoned Portia to her. “Tell the cleaning staff to focus on the ballrooms and dining rooms today, Portia. We will be investigating in Lucio’s wing.” 

Portia nodded. “I’ll tell them right away.” 

“Oh, and Portia...would you be so kind as to join us?” Nadia smiled, a little wanly. “I...I do not relish returning to Lucio’s wing, even with dear Iris’s company.” 

“Of course, Milady, though honestly, I’m not looking forward to going up there either.” The redhead swallowed. “We’ve all heard the voices. You know the stories the staff tells.” 

Iris pursed her lips. “If you’re okay with me casting a spell on you, I can protect us. The ward I used last time seemed to be effective, though I can’t say how long I can sustain it.” 

“Good thinking, Iris. I think we would both find that acceptable.” Nadia’s hand covered Portia’s, and Iris startled a little at the intimacy. If Portia was surprised by the touch, she didn’t let on – she nodded fervently at Nadia’s side, consenting to Iris’s spellwork. But when she flounced away to speak to the head of the cleaning staff, Iris couldn’t help but notice the back of her neck was red.

Iris and Nadia finished breakfast with some light chatter about the announcement of the new law, to be given by the Praetor today, and some of the preparations for the masquerade. Iris was fascinated to find out that there was a spring in northern Prakra where the water was naturally effervescent and imbued with magical properties; if drunk in certain quantities, it could make a person levitate for a few minutes.

When Portia returned, they stood and made their way to the grand staircase, stopping just short of Lucio’s wing. Iris beckoned Nadia to stand close to her, and drew the ward through the lace on the space between her collarbones, the circle with the five-pointed star. It glowed a pearly white, and the Countess inhaled sharply as the heat of the spell rushed through her. 

Iris frowned. “Ah, I’m sorry, I should have warned you. It can be uncomfortable if you’re not used to it. Portia, you may feel some heat. It’s normal.” She did the same to Portia, the circle with the star – it glowed brightly on the redhead’s chest before settling. Finally, Iris laid the spell on herself; by the time she was done, she was out of breath and feeling strained. Three powerful spells in quick succession, spells that required a steady stream of magic to maintain, especially after a night of fitful sleep – it could do a number on even the most skilled magicians. 

Now, the three women looked warily up the stairs – the Borzoi bloodhounds sat at their posts at the landing, watching them cautiously, their ears at attention, the male’s lip curled up to show one sharp canine tooth, notched ear flickering. 

“Will they let us through?” Iris asked hesitantly. She was confident in her ability to heal small wounds, but she shuddered at the thought of those teeth ripping through any of them.

“I’ve got it.” Portia said, ascending the stairs two at a time, a feat on her short legs. From the folds of her sash she procured two biscuits, which she placed on the steps just in front of the dogs; they sniffed them curiously as Portia quickly withdrew her hand, away from their long snouts. Both dogs tore the biscuits apart with a few snarling bites, and Iris couldn’t help but gasp as both dogs dropped into sleep almost instantaneously, curling into each other like snuggling kittens, harmless. 

Portia gestured to Nadia and Iris, and they trudged up the marble staircase. Portia wiggled her eyebrows at Iris’s shocked face. “Chamomile cakes. They’re enchanted to calm even the fiercest dogs. There’s a bakery in the Heart distract that specializes in enchantments for dogs. They’re not cheap, and the shopgirls are _verryy_ rude, but we haven’t had any dog bite incidences with the staff in over a year, so in some ways they pay for themselves...” 

Iris smiled faintly; she’d noticed Portia had her brother’s same habit of babbling when nervous, and as the three of them stepped over the dogs, the quiet chatter was welcome against the overwhelming thrum of silence in the long hall. Iris’s eyes swiveled as she took it in – the same dark marble from her dream, though now the lanterns were unlit, casting ominous shadows over the columned walls, the vaulted ceilings. The acrid stench of ash and neglect was overwhelming, making her nostrils flare. 

On every paneled wall of the hallway, framed by two Corinthian columns, was a life-size portrait of the same hulking, imposing body, the horrible gold claw, the oily blonde hair – Lucio, posing with his dogs, lounging on his throne, leaning on the balustrade of a massive balcony, overlooking the shimmering lights of the city. Yet, on every one of these portraits, his pale blue eyes were gone, the canvas gnawed through.

Iris ran her fingers over the textured canvas of one when she felt a chill run up her spine, the hem of her dress ruffling as if by a breeze. She heard no words, no voice this time, but she knew; Lucio’s presence, or whatever was left of him, was here with them. A hand fell onto her shoulder, making her jump; it was Nadia. She was surveying the portrait also, her lips pressed into a thin line. 

“He was a terribly vain man, my husband.” She said evenly. Iris noticed, with a shock, that none of the portraits featured Nadia. “The sad thing is, it wasn’t even one of his worst qualities.” 

“Nadia...why did you marry him?” Iris asked softly, then wished she could swallow the question back as Nadia turned away from the portrait, her expression unreadable. Iris followed her as they tailed Portia, who was already at the door at the end of the hallway, still chattering, her hands shaking a little as she fumbled with all her keyrings, searching for the right one. 

When Nadia spoke, her voice was quiet, quieter than Iris had ever heard the towering Countess speak. “I was so young, only 17. We were at some party, a gala, a ball, I don’t remember...he was drunk. He got me drunk. Then...” Her breath caught in her throat, and her lip quivered. “He proposed to me the next morning when he realized who I was; fool he may be, he wasn’t about to start another war with Prakra after the 12 Year War. I thought...I thought it was what I had to do. My family didn’t know – they couldn’t. It is a blessing I didn’t fall pregnant.” Her eyes fluttered closed. "This was the first memory of our marriage that I recovered when I awoke. It has colored everything I've seen...of this palace, of this government, of this city."

Iris couldn’t help herself – her lips trembled as tears welled up in her eyes. Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around Nadia’s shoulder’s, pulling her close, saying nothing.

Nadia tensed, a boundary crossed. Her hand flew up to Iris’s arm, almost as if to protect herself; then she exhaled, her shoulders relaxing, as she leaned a little into Iris. “No one knows, not even Portia. Please keep this between us.” She said softly into Iris’s ear. 

Iris squeezed her friend’s shoulders, pulling away from the embrace, and nodded sharply, quickly wiping her tears away. “Of course….of course.” There was a sound of unused hinges protesting – Portia had gotten the door open. 

Both women straightened a little, composing themselves, not looking at each other. Iris felt, again, Lucio’s chilly presence behind her, lifting the hem of her dress softly. She could practically feel his hot breath on her neck as she crossed the threshold to his bedchamber. 

It was nearly pitch-black in the room, and Iris cast an orb of soft orange light so they could see. Everything was covered in a very fine layer of soot and ash, so light it almost looked like a romantic dusting of snow. The room was huge, the vaulted ceiling cavernous; Iris realized that they must be in one of the imposing turrets visible from the rest of the city. 

Everything in the room looked as if it had once been of the finest quality: several highly polished mirrors (now coated with ash and grime) in undulating, ornate gold frames. An extravagantly large marble and mahogany writing desk. A fine suit of armor made entirely of gold, fur, and fearsome spiked chainmail on a form in the corner, the left arm missing. An enormous four-poster bed with a rich red velvet canopy, easily large enough for an orgy; Iris’s gut twisted at the sight of it. 

At the end of the room, directly across from the bed, was a portrait that must have been at least 4 meters tall. Iris approached it, casting her light on it, her eyes straining in the dark. Lucio was in profile, younger, his muscled body rippling under a carmine-red coat and sumptuous fur, the golden alchemical arm gleaming as he crushed a massive horse’s skull under a booted heel, the tip of his sword through the eyesocket. In this portrait, his imperious eye, in profile, was still intact. Though the room was considerably warmer than the chilly hallway, Iris shivered. 

_It’s torture, isn’t it? Being able to see, but not able to feel…_ Iris felt the hot breath on her neck again; she spun around, but there was nothing but the fine layer of silt, and Nadia and Portia’s confused looks as they hesitated in the doorway, uncertain.

Iris’s face twisted into a sneer. She re-upped all three protections, making her heart race, her palms sweat. 

Nadia was now running her hands over the ornately paneled walls, her fingers coming away completely covered in grime and dust, her face twisted in disgust. Portia lit a candle in a finger loop from the bedside table from a matchbook in her sash, casting extra light around the room. 

“Iris, what sorts of things should we be looking for?” Portia asked. She was already opening up the doors to a massive mahogany wardrobe, the clothing inside now mouldering and moth-eaten. 

Iris shifted the papers on the desk, clouds of ash and silt puffing with even the tiniest movements. “Anything that can point us to what happened. Something that explains the doctor’s relationship to the Count. Hell, something that explains why anyone would want to off the Count.” 

“Do you want the long list, or the short one?” Nadia deadpanned, her voice dripping in disdain. “My dearly departed husband did not want for enemies.” She joined Iris at the desk, opening drawers and searching their contents, pulling out folios of letters and correspondences, looking through them quickly before placing them aside in a neat pile. 

Portia was now examining an ornately carved bookcase filled with matching leatherbound books – history, literature, poetry, philosophy. The spines looked as if they had never been cracked. “It’s amazing that all this survived the fire.” She said quietly, carefully thumbing through a huge tome of love sonnets. 

Iris’s ears perked up. She straightened, and looked around the room, surveying it again. Nadia paused besides her. “What is it, Iris?” The Countess asked. 

“Portia’s right.” Iris muttered. “The furniture is wood. These documents should be cinders, not to mention the fabric.” Iris gestured to the high-pile carpet, the tapestries, the embroidered curtains, the velvet canopy. “All of this should have gone up if the entire room was in flames. But it’s still here. It’s not even singed.” 

Now, Iris bent down and touched the fine layer of ash and dust on the floor, rubbing it between her fingers. It felt oddly oily; Iris’s hands shook. She straightened, turning to Portia and Nadia, who were watching her closely. She swallowed back the disgust that sharpened on the back of her tongue. “It was only his body that burned. All this ash – it’s what’s left of him.” 

She felt the cold against her skin again, this time whipping at her clothing, though it didn’t agitate the dust around her. The braids that had loosed from Nadia’s hair fluttered, as did Portia’s sash. They all shivered. 

“What does it mean?” Portia asked, slamming shut the book of poems and putting it back on the bookshelf. She looked positively green.

“It means...unless the doctor can cast a powerful spell like this – not just fire, but marked fire – he wasn’t the one who set the blaze that killed Count Lucio.” Iris said with certainty. 

Nadia lowered her chin onto one graceful finger, lost in thought. “It’s not enough to prove he wasn’t involved, but it is enough to prove he’s not the murderer himself.” 

Iris nodded in agreement. They would need more. Suddenly, Iris jumped and let out a little shriek as something dropped onto her shoulders, startling both of her companions; Portia even dropped the small statuette she had picked up, but she caught it again before it shattered on the floor. 

A familiar, muscled warmth slithered against Iris’s shoulders, and Faust’s lavender head appeared in her periphery, nuzzling against Iris’s cheek. The young magician breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “Faust, don’t scare me like that.” She reached up to stroke the snake, who coiled happily against her touch. 

_Nightstand…_

Iris wrinkled her brow, looking quickly to Faust before glancing at the bed – there was an unimposing nightstand nestled between the bed and the door to the water closet, with two long, narrow drawers. Unlike the desk, which was chaotic with papers, the nightstand was neater, though cluttered with medical supplies. As Iris approached, she saw syringes, stoppered tincture bottles, rubber hoses for drips, and leeches, shriveled and long dead, in jars. 

Amidst the supplies, there was a hand-bound, red leather journal; Iris knew who it belonged to even before she picked it up. It was a meticulous record of treatment, dates, dosages, treatment types, effectiveness, along with the vitals, symptoms, and status of the patient, recorded carefully from dates that went back...years. The summer of five years ago, to be precise. All written in a nearly illegible, sloping script...Julian’s. 

Iris turned to Nadia. “Nadia, I know your memories are spotty, but do you remember when you put out the call for experts to come work on the plague?” 

Nadia’s brow furrowed. “The 15th year of Lucio’s reign, if I remember correctly...five years ago? A little more? I believe it was early summer.” 

Iris’s mouth twisted into a frown – the first entries reflected this date, if not just slightly after it. “And...why did you and Lucio decide to sponsor the cure?” Her intuition had whispered it to her, but she needed to hear Nadia, someone, say it. 

Nadia blinked, surprised. “Why, because Lucio had contracted the plague.” 

Still, Iris’s jaw dropped. “He survived for two and a half _years_ with the plague? And that wasn’t even what killed him in the end?” She stared down at the journal. “The plague normally kills in three days. Dr. Devorak kept him alive for _two and a half years_. No wonder the city nearly went bankrupt...”

Portia bit her lip. “That’s Il – the Doctor’s? Is that enough to prove that he didn’t have a motive?” 

“No...but it’s enough to cast doubt on it.” Nadia said firmly. “We need something more concrete than this to prove it. And proving that Dr. Devorak is not the murderer does not prove to us who was.” She took the journal from Iris and thumbed through it, her arched eyebrows nearly meeting in consternation. Iris wondered how much of this she remembered, how much was coming back to her just by being in this horrid, suffocating room. 

Iris realized she was sweating – she was having difficulty recovering her magic while she maintained their protections; instinctually, she lessened hers and focused on Nadia and Portia’s. She could now feel the pulse of the spirit that swirled around them, screaming feebly into ears that could not hear. The aura of the room was heavy, and Iris felt it choking her. She wouldn’t be able to stay here much longer without passing out. 

_Drawer_… Faust hissed gently to Iris, nudging her jaw with her snout. Iris’s hand immediately flew to the first drawer, pulling it open with one fluid movement; she winced at the sight of what was inside, slamming it shut. It was full of what she could only presume were toys, golden and gleaming, along with leather restraints, bottles of oil in dark glass, undoubtedly now rancid. 

“Faust, I swear to the gods...” 

_DRAWER_… Faust insisted, now edging her fangs against Iris’s skin. Iris grabbed the second drawer and opened it; Iris noticed it was fitted with a lock, but the drawer yielded. 

This drawer was seated in red velvet and broken into sections, almost like an oversized jewelry box, but each section seemed to hold a key or a trinket. Iris pursed her lips, drawn to a key in the middle. It was unlike any other key she had ever seen – a pitch black round loop with eight sets of teeth, each splayed out evenly, making it look like a twisted black sun. When Iris picked it up, it was searing hot to the touch as voices rose up around her – boisterous waves of cheering and boos, angry shouts, but also earsplitting shrieks of agony. She hissed and clutched at her temples as she was plunged into a memory.

_The air was damp and chilly, and the stones underneath Iris’s feet where uneven and rough. Though there were torches in the dank dungeon, they barely cast any light into the cell Iris was standing in front of, next to the memory’s owner. Her chest seized, and she fought the urge to vomit; it was Lucio, in a low-slung red surplice shirt, black pants, and tall leather boots, his heeled foot haughtily resting on the bottom rail of the cell’s bars, his stance wide, victorious. He was twirling the terrible key in one finger of his golden arm, his thin lips curved into a snide grin._

_“I knew you would see reason.” He practically purred with satisfaction. _

_Iris shifted her gaze to the prisoner now. He was standing in his cell, facing Lucio, but his head was lowered so Iris couldn’t see his face, only his impossibly long hair, blacker than the void and tangled, oily, as if he hadn’t bathed in days. To say he was hulking would be an understatement – he was well over two meters tall, his enormous chest the width of three of Iris’s. He would have even dwarfed Julian, who was easily one of the tallest men Iris had ever met. _

_He was dressed fearsomely, his right arm clad in a spiked black pauldron and scaled armor, his broad chest crossed over and over with brown and black leather straps, a massive bear fur draped over his shoulders and held in place by a monstrous-looking spiked collar, which now chained him to the cell’s stone wall. Iris’s eyes fell, with a shiver, to the massive battleaxe resting against the cell’s corner; it was drenched in blood. _

_The giant man lifted his eyes to Lucio – Iris’s heart tugged when she saw his forest green eyes, shimmering with the beginnings of tears. Iris sensed immediately that this man was not the brute his appearance suggested – his eyes were sensitive, sorrowful...familiar?_

_Suddenly, his gaze grew ferocious; his jaw clenched and his skin reddened. “I’m doing this to protect him.” He said, his voice was like distant thunder; soft but shocking, shaking Iris to her core. _

_Lucio laughed cruelly, tossing the key up in the air and catching it easily with one hand. “You know what they say, Muri – can I call you Muri? – nice guys finish last.” He flashed one more sick grin at the man, and Iris felt her heart twist as a sadistic joy flooded her. Lucio kicked off of the cell rail and turned to leave, waving nonchalantly behind him. “See you in the arena tomorrow, buddy.” _

_The man gripped the bars now, hanging his head low again, his shoulders trembling – Iris could see one glittering trail sliding down his nose._

With a gasp, she returned; Nadia’s hands were on her shoulders, Portia hovering nervously. Iris was sweating profusely now, and she felt feverish; her head ached as if it had been branded.

“Iris, what happened? You weren’t responding to us...we couldn’t move you...” Nadia’s eyes were wide, her voice shaking. 

“I...I saw one of Lucio’s memories...” She turned the key over between her fingers. “This must have been something important to him.” She showed the key to Nadia, who shook her head. 

“I don’t recognize it, but I know what it is. It’s called a spider key – a Prakran invention. Once something is locked with it, it can only be opened with that key – there’s only one, and you can’t make duplicates. And the lock won’t open with any other magic. They are exceedingly rare.” 

A darkness welled up in Iris’s heart. “That’s horrible.” Besides her, she felt hot breath like laughter on her neck. 

Faust nudged her again; she was not done. Trembling now, Iris peered back into the drawer, tentatively casting out her magic, which swirled and pooled around four other items. The first was another key, this one tiny, oily and black, set with a minuscule ruby. The second was a ring, silver and thick, bearing a long, rectangular setting of lapis lazuli. The third was a gilded brooch, shaped like a ram’s head, several long blonde hairs entangled in the clasp. The last item...was two items, Iris realized, a fine gold chain holding a starburst-shaped diamond that had somehow been shattered; the shards were collected in a tiny glass vial stopped with rubber. 

Iris centered herself and took a deep breath before collecting the items and placing them in her satchel, quieting her clairvoyance so she did not dip into Lucio’s memories again. She had no idea what the items meant, but it was clear that they were trophies of some sort, totems to his own feeble power. It made Iris angry, but it also made her desperately sad. 

She stood, taking a deep breath. “I need to get out of this room.” 

Nadia placed her hand on Iris’s arm, handing the journal back to her, which Iris quickly stowed away in her satchel. “I agree...I believe we’ve seen enough for now.” 

Beside her, Portia nodded, wrapping her arms around herself. “I feel like I’ll never be warm again.” 

“That’s odd...” Iris said as the three of them wound their way around the bed to the door. “This room makes me feel hot...” 

_I’ll show you hot, pretty fool..._

There was a rush of fiery energy against Iris’s skin, as if she were standing in front of a furnace; she winced as something solid bucked into her, forcing her backwards – her knees hit the soft edge of the bed and she tumbled back onto satin sheets, landing in a fine cloud of dust. Every nerve in her body alighted with panic as she tried not to breathe and to scramble out of the musty bed, but her limbs locked, her muscles failed, something was pressing into her…

A ghostly form materialized, one clawed hand wrapped around her wrists as a velvety white muzzle pressed hot against her neck, and rough, ridged horns scraping against her forehead; Iris thought her head would explode from pain at the touch. She tried to twist away, but she was frozen; he only cackled. Something had twisted Lucio’s form into that of a grotesque goat, standing on its hind legs, the stump of his amputated arm savagely scarred and pale, his eyes a glowing red. 

_You always were a frigid bitch...no matter, I’ve got you where I want you now...hot and weak, under me in my bed..._

Iris screwed her eyes shut, and focused all of her magic into her breath; the protection on her chest shined as bright as a star as she screamed one ferocious word, releasing all her power with it in a powerful flash of light - 

_**“No!”**_

Lucio reared back and disappeared without so much as a whimper; soft but strong hands grabbed Iris’s wrists and pulled her forward out of the bed, but as soon as she stood, looking into Nadia and Portia’s frightened faces, the young magician knew she had used too much magic. Her eyes rolled back into her head as she passed out, crumpling to the floor.

*******

It was nearing dawn when Asra reached the Southside of town. In any other part of Vesuvia, it would be quiet and sleepy; the only people rising would be the shopkeeps to prepare for the hustle of Saturday market. But here, he was passing pockets of revelers near the end of their Friday night antics, some still taking pulls from brown and green bottles or attempting to drunkenly wrap their arms around his shoulders, professing their love or planting kisses on his handsome face. He slithered out of their grips with a kind smile and a chuckle, but his focus this morning was single-minded.

Near the tavern district, he slipped into an unlit back alley that smelled of piss and stagnant water; he made to cast an orb of orange light, then caught himself. He picked slowly through the darkness, still knowing the way by heart – the missing cobblestone here, the low-hanging pipe there. 

He reached the stoop of what looked like an unassuming warehouse by the docks, built in the old Alban style, and took the steps up two at a time; the door was padlocked with a keypad of 26 Alban letters. Asra’s brow furrowed. He hadn’t accounted on him changing the lock...or the language.

After a moment of contemplation, he took a deep breath and held his hand flat in front of his mouth, blowing hard so his palm heated up, smarting a little against the January cold. He passed his palm over the keypad, and three of the keys glowed a soft orange; the I, the R, and the S. 

Asra sighed. He thought he would have to do some mental acrobatics to suss out the keyword, but Julian at least made this part easy for him. He pressed the cool metal keys in quick sequence – I, R, I, S – and the lock clicked open in the heavy metal door. Asra shouldered it open.

He found himself in a cramped stairwell that went up three flights to the top floor of the warehouse; Asra ascended them quickly, the rusted metal creaking only a little against his footfalls. The higher he got, the louder the music became, reverberating through the stairwell – Asra couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. 

When he reached the landing of the fourth floor, the sound was practically deafening – a woman’s voice, sultry, low, and rough, sang the lamentations of being unworthy of love against the sound of jazzy brass and rumbling, insistent strings. Asra didn’t have to worry about being heard now – the gramophone, perhaps the only expensive luxury that Julian had ever dropped his considerable palace stipend on, was turned all the way up, the wax record spinning lazily against a quartz needle. 

Asra leaned against the exposed brick wall, surveying the scene with the beginnings of a wicked smile. The open loft was as sparsely furnished as before – a long teakwood table with a few artfully mismatched chairs, a queen bed with white sheets, nothing else, a long galley kitchen along the far wall. Two mis-mated black leather armchairs around a twisted driftwood coffee table, across from a cast-iron fireplace. The half moon windows weren’t even fitted with curtains. 

The only thing that suggested that anyone might actually live here sometimes was the desk in the farthest corner, littered with leatherbound notebooks, scrolls, folios, illustrations and notes adhered with sticking gum to the glass of the windows, and the bookshelves, raw wood bowing under the weight of anything and everything Julian could get his hands on – dogeared literature, poetry, scripts, medical texts and publications, philosophy, criticism, satire. Asra knew he’d probably read them all, too. Not being able to sleep gives one a lot of time. 

This was where the gramophone was set up, with one shelf dedicated entirely to his small collection of pressed-wax recordings, rare and obscenely expensive. And here was Julian, exactly where Asra expected him to be; drunk off his ass, sprawled out on the floor, nursing a bottle of 8 of Cups (not his first of the night, no, there was an empty under the desk, and at least one other in the kitchen), absolutely belting along with the singer.

“_I cheated myself like I knew I would...I told you I was trouble, you know that I’m no good..._” He warbled drunkenly, his voice cracking piteously on the high notes. 

Asra mercifully stifled a laugh, crossing over to the gramophone player and gently lifting up the needle; the record protested loudly as the quartz left the wax groove, making Julian jump, his eye roving wildly around the room before landing on Asra, standing imperiously over him. 

“Red wine. How predictable.” The magician smirked. 

“Asra, erm...where’d you..._how’d_ you...” Julian mumbled, before letting his head settle back onto light wood floor with a thud. 

Asra raised his eyebrows. “Iris? Really?”

Julian moaned, his hand flying up to his forehead. “What was I thinking? That woman deserves the entire world served to her on a gilded platter, not some...” He picked up the bottle, taking a long swig. “...drunk, washed up failure.” 

The magician’s eyes glittered mischievously. “I was talking about the lock.” 

“Oh, erm...righto.” Julian wrinkled his nose a little, then his eyebrows dipped, his one-eyed gaze far away. “What do you think she’s doing right now?” 

“Sleeping.” Asra replied, gently prying the bottle from Julian’s hand and setting it upright on a book on the desk. 

Julian groaned, tossing his head this way and that. “Oh, fuck, you would know, wouldn’t you? Does she...does she do that thing with you where she arches her back in her sleep and…” Julian arched his back wantonly, to illustrate. “...and presses her cute little ass into your cock, by the Gods...” He rolled his head dramatically, pressing his reddening cheek into the floor. “That woman could turn a nun. I should have had her again this morning, Maz be damned, turned her on her side and thrown her leg over my–” 

“Okay, that’s enough.” Asra held out his hand to Julian, who looked at it stupidly. If he weren’t wearing an eyepatch, Asra was sure his eyes would be crossed. The magician sighed, heavily, before kneeling down and throwing one of Julian’s long arms over his own shoulders, hauling him ungraciously into a sitting position. 

“Oof...” Julian’s head lolled against Asra’s shoulder. “You always were a rough one. Not that I minded...” 

“Shut up. Can you stand? You’re too heavy.” 

“Ooo, yes, _siiiiirrrr_.” Julian crooned, only half sarcastically, hoisting himself up to his knees before standing wobbily, leaning heavily on Asra, who couldn’t help but inhale the deep, drunken scent he used to crave. They stumbled together to the bed, where Asra dumped Julian rather ungracefully, the doctor landing roughly on his side.

“Empress’s tits, Asra. Buy me dinner, at least.” Julian grunted. Asra was tugging on Julian’s boots now, pulling them down from his thighs roughly. 

“You’ll regret that one in the morning, I’m sure.” Asra chuckled darkly, wresting the first shoe free, though the memories that flitted through his mind’s eye were hot and vivid, making the blood rush to his sacrum. Julian clumsily kicked the other one off, saving Asra his chore, but not before inelegantly pressing his socked foot onto Asra’s mouth with a teasing guffaw. 

Asra swatted the offending foot away, scowling now as heat rose to his cheeks, making Julian pout. “I thought toes were your thing?” 

Asra rolled his eyes venomously, standing. “Arcana grant me patience.” He muttered. He snapped the sheets over Julian, who rolled onto his back and sprawled out, his long limbs flung to each corner of the bed like a starfish; he sighed as he sank into the mattress, his body unburdened from the heaviness of his drunken state. 

Asra surveyed him for a moment before going into the kitchen. He ran water from the copper pipes into the sink-basin, filling the kettle and two large glasses with water. He placed the kettle over the gas stove, lighting it with a lazy flick of his wrist – the water he took back to Julian, placing both glasses carefully by the bed on one of the bookshelves. Surprisingly, the doctor reached for one – Asra handed it to him, and Julian sat up, drinking gratefully. 

The kettle whistled softly – Asra had forgotten how quickly an actual stove could boil water – and he magicked it off the heat with another flick of his wrist, the hot water pouring into a long-forgotten mug. He checked the cupboards in the kitchen; of course, they were practically bare, the only things in them the ancient canister of stale lapsang souchong that Asra had left there years ago, and a paper bag of what smelled like freshly ground coffee. With a sigh, Asra closed the cupboard. Hot water would have to do for now. 

“There’s some chamomile...in the water closet.” Julian called sleepily from the bed, falling back onto the mattress with a muffled thump. “And lavender.” 

Asra raised his eyebrows, but opened the door to the water closet just off the kitchen. It was currently in use as a makeshift lab – Julian was cold-distilling a tincture of chamomile and valerian, some lavender, some Altansarnai rose, over the minute porcelain sink. The herbal ingredients were jarred and stacked neatly on the shelf above the toilet – Asra took the crushed chamomile buds and pressed them between his fingers, magicking them into a small ball that he dropped into the mug; the form held its shape in the water. 

“Who’s the tincture for, Ilya?” Asra asked quietly, closing the door behind him. Julian didn’t care much that he didn’t sleep, didn’t see any problem drinking himself into a stupor chasing it; the tincture certainly wasn’t for himself.

Julian’s one good eye fluttered open, his gaze far away. “I...Iris wasn’t sleeping well. Tossing and turning, fitful, crying out. That tincture seemed to do the trick a few nights ago.” 

Asra sank into Julian’s desk chair with his tea, a secret smile playing across his face. “Get some sleep, Ilya.”

“...and she was doing that little thing with her ass...”

“Good _night_, Ilya.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MOC: Oh, I do love deferred gratification. 
> 
> See you in Strength 2.


	6. Strength, Part 2: When I Am King, You Will Be First Against The Wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Arctic Monkeys - Do I Wanna Know? // Radiohead - Ill Wind **
> 
> _CW: Rough sex, sexual harassment, violence and death, vomit _

Asra’s eyelids flitted open slowly, heavily – then he jolted awake. It took him a second to remember where he was, in Julian’s loft, waiting for him to sleep off his drunken stupor. But Julian wasn’t in his bed, the white sheets crumpled on the floor like a discarded dress. 

How had he fallen asleep? Sure, Asra could sleep – and did sleep – anywhere, from the branches of trees to damp cavern floors to benches on the street, a handy trait he had acquired from his days as a street urchin, but a cup of chamomile tea shouldn’t have knocked him out like this. Unless...unless Julian purchased the herbs from the temple of the Moon, imbued with blessings of deep sleep. Asra couldn’t suppress a snide smile. That would be just like Julian...hocus-pocus this, witchcraft that, but still used sacred herbs to brew his tinctures. 

Asra made to stand, but was jerked heavily back into his seat – his wrists were bound tightly to the chair’s arms. Asra tried to untease the knots with magic, but he couldn’t find the beginning or end of the silken rope. He’d forgotten about this cursed pirate’s rope, a parting gift from Captain Chingshi that Asra had become _very_ familiar with...

With a sigh of exasperation, he surveyed the loft – there was Julian, his back turned to him, shirtless, leaning back against the kitchen counter with a cup of black coffee steaming in his hand. As if he felt eyes on him, he glanced at Asra over his shoulder, a wicked grin sliding across his sharp features. 

“Rise and shine, witch.” 

Asra closed his eyes and counted to seven before he answered. “Why am I tied up, Ilya?” 

“Good question. But the better question is, how did you get into my loft?” 

Asra opened one eye. “Do you not remember our conversation last night?” 

Julian’s cool facade slipped away for a moment, before the grin returned. He turned around, leaning on his elbows on the counter; Asra couldn’t help noticing how defined the muscles of his shoulders and arms were. “Refresh my memory."

Asra laughed, a little coldly. “You were four bottles deep in 8 of Cups. You changed the code, probably last night while you were smashed, to IRIS. You talked about how she rubs her ass on your dick while you sleep, and how you wanted roll her onto her side and fuck her with her leg thrown over your shoulder.” With each word, Julian reddened considerably; Asra smirked wickedly now. “For what it’s worth, if you can last more than three thrusts in that position, you _might_ make her squirt.” 

The deep flush on Julian’s face was now diffusing down his neck. “I’m not sure what you’re insinuating.” 

Asra laughed once, haughtily, a knowing half-smile crossing his sculpted lips. “I think you do.” 

Julian’s features twisted into a scowl. “What are you doing here, Asra? I assume it’s not to taunt and insult me.”

Asra let out a heavy, annoyed sigh, his neck rolling back on the chair, looking up at the high ceiling. “Iris got your message. She was worried sick about you, not thinking straight; she wanted to wander barefoot through the streets in the middle of the night, calling for you like you were a lost puppy.”

Julian’s face fell, his lips sculpted into a deep, concerned frown; he dropped his head between his shoulders and let out a moan. “I didn’t mean to worry her…” 

“How could she not worry, Ilya? _Don’t look for me_? How drunk were you when you wrote that?” Asra surveyed him sternly now. 

Julian sighed and threw his head up, stretching his back. “Four, five drinks at the Raven?” 

Asra sighed. “You haven’t changed at all, have you? At what drink did you become so overcome with self-loathing that you decided to break up with her to save her the heartache – was it at the bottom of the second, or the top of the third?” 

Julian smarted. “It was the top of the second, actually.” 

Asra laughed darkly. “And you were exactly where I found you last time you tried to break up with someone like this – drunk off your ass in front of your record player, feeling sorry for yourself.” 

Julian blushed fiercely now. “Well, at least I’m not an arrogant, patronizing dick! Did Iris send you to check on me, or did you make that decision for her?”

Asra’s eyes widened. “I didn’t think you would want her to see you that way.” 

Julian spread his arms out wide. “No, I didn’t, Asra, that’s the point! This is who I am – a drunk, a boor, a failure. I’m dangerous. I’ll only bring Iris pain. Every time I see her, she gets hurt. That’ s why I broke it off!” He sighed frustratedly, running both hands through his hair. “Maybe it would have been better if she saw. Maybe she wouldn’t want to come back.” 

Asra tried again to undo the knots around his wrists with his magic, but the ropes wouldn’t budge. “Don’t you think that’s her choice to make, Ilya? She’s a grown woman. She knows the price of love. If you want to break up with her, break up with her – but don’t say it’s for her.” 

At this, Julian sighed heavily, crossing the room to the bed. He sat on the corner of the mattress, his long legs flung out in front of him, his shoulders slumped almost comically. “My head hurts too much for this.” He muttered, cradling his temples between long fingers.

“Poor thing.” Asra said sarcastically; with one last fruitless sweep of his magic, he exhaled deeply, giving up. “Why am I tied up, Ilya?” He asked again. 

Julian’s eyes darkened as he gazed at the magician. He suddenly reached under the mattress and pulled out a respectably sized dagger; with one dramatic motion, he sliced deeply into the palm of his left hand, the blood ribboning down his wrist. 

Asra jerked forward, his magic rushing urgently through his veins, ready to heal, but he was taken aback by a pulsing, soft white light. Julian tilted his chin up and over, gazing down his nose at the shocked magician and smirking as the mark glowed. The skin sewed itself back together, the blood retracing its path up his skin and back into his veins; in seconds, his palm was as good as new. 

Asra’s mouth hung open, his brows furrowed. Julian chuckled. 

“I’ve got to say, for a curse, it could be worse – bones of glass, unrelenting halitosis, tentacles for a dick, what have you. This actually saves lives; it saved Iris’s just last night.” His eyes softened at the memory, and he bit his lip, but when his gaze met Asra’s again, it was cold, stony. “I know we left it on pretty bad terms, but this is a low blow, even for you.” 

Asra laughed loudly, throwing his head back. “You think I did that? I’m a magician, Ilya, not a god.” He settled with one last, chortling exhale. “You struck a bargain, and that’s your price. Or your reward, I’m not sure.” 

Julian cocked an eyebrow at him. “A bargain? With whom?” 

“With whom indeed, Ilya.” Asra said quietly. “You don’t remember?” 

Julian shook his head. “There are a lot of things that I don’t remember about my time at the palace. Too much drinking, I suppose.” His eyes twinkled, almost conspiratorially, as his eye met Asra’s. “All I know is by the time I fled on the night of Lucio’s death, I had this mark.” 

Asra’s face softened; it was a few moments before he spoke. “No one got out of that palace without losing something. Not you, not Iris, not Nadia...not me.” 

Julian leaned back, resting his weight on his elbows. “What did you lose, Asra?” 

Asra took a deep breath in and a deep breath out. “Another day, maybe.” 

The silence hung heavily now between the two, the tension between them palpable. Julian bit his lip, then chuckled. “Well, it could be worse...I could have hit on you last night.” 

Asra laughed musically. “Actually, you did. You tried to stick your toes in my mouth.” 

Julian scrunched his warm gray eye up and threw his head back, groaning. “By the Gods, that’s embarrassing.”

Asra smiled. “The Universe is shifting the sands around us, but through it all, you’re still the same Ilya.” 

Julian raised his eyebrows. “The one that gets plastered and tries to stick his toes in your mouth?” 

“That one.” 

The sound Julian made was half laugh, half exhale. “At least he’s not boring.” 

“No, he’s not,” Asra agreed, a smirk playing across his face now, his eyelids lowered so he was watching Julian through his long, white eyelashes. “Untie me, Ilya.” 

“Erm, oh...right.” Said the doctor, rubbing his neck before standing up from the bed. 

“No.” Asra said firmly, his brows arching, smirk widening. “Crawl to me.” 

Julian cinched his brow, confused. “What?” 

“Crawl, Ilya.” Asra purred, leaning back in the chair, lowering his chin, darkening eyes surveying Julian like a cat on the hunt.

There was a moment where Julian resisted, the muscles in his neck and shoulders tensing as if ready to fight, but with an audible shudder, he surrendered. He sank slowly to his knees, not breaking eye contact with Asra, the color rising on his ears and cheekbones as he leaned forward onto his hands, the sinuous muscles of his back rippling. Asra would be lying if he said he didn’t recall an image just like this of Julian on his knees when Asra was alone, without Iris besides him. Making love to her was exquisite, but his memories of being with Julian were a completely different beast. 

Julian bit his lip, flushing, as he crawled slowly towards Asra, eyeing the firm, athletic muscles underneath the magician’s loose linen shirt, the halo of fluffy, pearlescent hair that he used to love running his hands through while coming down from orgasm. Asra tilted his chin up a little further, taking in the sight in front of him, the broad, strong back, the unkempt curls, the shapely curves of Julian’s ass in the soft gray leggings he slept in, the desperate, hungry eyes. Seeing him now, like this, stirred up something fierce and fiery inside of Asra. 

When Julian reached the chair, he meekly undid the restraints around Asra’s wrists, his lips parted as he watched Asra through lidded eyes. Asra did not rise; instead, his hand snaked under Julian’s chin, pulling it upwards roughly, turning his head this way and that, relishing the way the sinews under Julian’s pale skin flexed and stretched under his touch, the way the jaw clenched in discomfort. 

He squeezed the flesh of Julian’s gaunt cheeks together, making the lips pucker; under Asra’s fingertips, he could feel Julian’s breath coming in shallow puffs and shivers. Asra let his fingers fall away, trailing dangerously down the doctor’s svelte neck, dragging his fingernails lightly against the skin. Julian moaned quietly and leaned in, his lips parting even more, begging; Asra obliged him, dipping down and pressing his lips roughly into his. 

Their kiss burned hot, full of tongue and teeth and quickening breaths; Asra bit Julian’s bottom lip hard and Julian swept his tongue through Asra’s mouth, swirling hotly around the wet muscle there, his shaking hands falling onto a firm chest and fumbling to pull the scarf off the magician’s neck. Asra was pawing at his own clothing, undoing his belt and pushing his pants down from his hips; feverishly, Julian grabbed them and pulled them down the rest of the way before palming the firm, naked flesh of Asra’s sturdy thighs. 

Asra wrapped his hands around Julian’s head and grabbed two generous fistfuls of auburn hair, making the doctor grunt with pleasure; Asra pulled him forward and down, the wicked grin snaking across his lips as Julian came face-to-face with Asra’s erection. Julian looked up at Asra, lip sunk, pillowed, between his teeth, his eyes dilated, before he grasped Asra’s cock and wrapped his lips hungrily around the tip. 

Asra moaned, and leaned his head back, breathing deeply as Julian sucked, his lips slowly moving lower and lower as he took inch after inch of cock into his mouth. No one could hold a candle to the way Julian gave head, his intense desire to please, his complete and utter disregard for his own comfort. The doctor was gagging now, his lips and nose pressed hard against Asra’s pubis, his throat tightening against the tip, mouth growing slick and slippery with saliva while he sucked feverishly and massaged the base of the shaft with the flat of his tongue. 

His cold fingers snaked up around Asra’s scrotum and fondled him, slowly rolling and rotating the testicles in his palm while his mouth did its work. A satisfied sigh rose up from Asra’s throat; he rewarded Julian by lacing his fingers tighter into auburn hair, his fingernails scraping against the skin of his scalp, and pumping his hips a little into Julian’s mouth, making him gag again, tears springing up in the corner of his visible eye. 

Asra could have been content letting Julian make quick work of him – his thighs were already trembling, his toes curling, only minutes in – but he knew only one thing would satisfy Julian. Asra sharply pulled Julian’s head up off his lap, making the doctor gasp and roll his eyes back in pain and pleasure. 

Roughly, Asra pushed Julian so he fell back onto his elbows; Asra crawled over him and placed his hand on Julian’s bare chest, fisting his fingers into the dense hair, relishing the sharp heaves and shakes of Julian’s chest as he forced him down on to his back. Asra sank his teeth into the prone man’s neck while roughly groping the crotch of his leggings, Julian’s massive erection throbbing and hot under his touch. A growl of pure lust rose from Asra’s chest, the sound vibrating against the doctor’s pale skin as he moaned hotly and arched his back slightly. 

“Ilya, did you miss this?” He rumbled, his voice low, as he undid the stays of Julian’s pants. “Iris is so pretty, so wild, but she doesn’t touch you like this, does she?” Asra yanked Julian’s pants down under his hips, his hand diving down, completely bypassing Julian’s cock to slip between firm cheeks, pressing roughly against the resistant ring of muscle underneath.

Julian grimaced and hissed as Asra’s fingers, magically wet now, probed him, circling furiously before pushing one finger all the way in. 

“Oh fuck yes...” He gasped, his mouth wide, his whole chest flushed as he threw his head back; Asra saw that the mark on his neck was already glowing, and he ran his tongue over it languorously while he thrusted his hand into Julian, prepping him. 

Julian writhed, and ran his hands under Asra’s shirt so he could touch the dense muscle, smooth skin, of his back, clutch and dig his fingers into something as the magician pushed another finger into him, the burn sweet but hot as his body stretched and accommodated. 

Asra’s grin was completely devilish when he pressed his lips against Julian’s ear and whispered, “When was the last time anyone was inside you, Ilya?” 

Julian cried out as Asra rubbed the tips of his fingers against Julian’s prostate, making his cock throb heavily against his stomach. “Too long...” he moaned. Asra laughed hotly into his ear. 

“Beg for it, Ilya.” 

Julian gritted his teeth as his cock twitched again and Asra pressed his fingers into him, thrusting forcefully but carefully. He didn’t need to be asked twice. “Oh fuck, Asra, use me...” He groaned, voice rising, breaking pitifully. “Break me down, fuck me to pieces, rip me in fucking half, slap me, spit on me, shatter me...please..._please_...” 

Asra shoved a third lubed finger in, and the shudder that ran through Julian was more like a convulsion; he rolled his hips up and against Asra’s touch, his body begging for more. “I think I can do that...” Asra murmured, giving Julian a few quick and hard thrusts of his wrists before pulling away; Julian whined at the loss of touch. 

Asra roughly pulled Julian’s pants the rest of the way down and off of him, then ripped off his own shirt, his smooth, amber chest on full view for Julian for only a moment before Asra growled, “Get on all fours.” 

Julian twisted his body over so quickly, so wantonly, that Asra groaned, his voice leaden; Julian leaned on his elbows on the threadbare Nivenese rug that covered the worn wood and rolled his hips back, popping his ass up in the air, make the rise and curve of his muscles even more delicious. 

Asra exhaled heavily and grasped firmly at each swell, kneading lightly as he lifted and pushed them out of the way; with two fingers now, he stroked Julian’s perineum as he guided the tip of his cock to the relaxed ring of muscle, rubbing a lubricated hand on himself. 

“Are you ready?” Asra moaned, hardly able to contain himself. 

Julian tossed his head back, and begged, “Fuck, Asra, just do it, _učini to_, please...” 

There was a flash of purple light and burning heat, and with a wicked smile, Asra pushed through and plunged in. Julian arched his back and grunted loudly, and something animal surged through Asra’s veins from his loins; the feeling of Julian, tight, velvety, and sinful, was just as he remembered, just as he had fantasized. Asra pushed a little further, meeting the sweet, tense resistance that he knew Julian loved; Julian gritted his teeth and pushed himself back onto Asra, begging for even more. 

Asra chuckled darkly, and muttered, “Rub your ass on my cock, Ilya, just like Iris.” Julian blushed fiercely, but did as he was told, popping his hips up to meet Asra’s with each pump.

Asra thrusted all the way in now, making Julian practically shout in pain. Asra could never imagine fucking Iris this hard, fucking anyone this hard, if it weren’t for the fact that he knew this was exactly how Julian wanted it: rough, painful, and filthy, so hard that sometimes he had trouble sitting the next day. Asra was thrusting deep and fast now, magicking more lube onto himself as Julian arched and contorted underneath him, grunting ecstatically through gritted teeth with each thrust. 

The only sounds in the loft were the slapping of skin on skin and the animal sounds that rose from their throats as Asra continued to pound into Julian. He grabbed onto the doctor’s hips for stability, delivering the occasional hard spank, followed by a firm grope. 

Julian was in heaven, on his hands and knees getting spanked with a hard cock inside of him; the mark on his throat pulsed as Asra plunged into him over and over, his own erection twitching with each pass of Asra’s head over the tender bundle of his prostate. After several minutes of this bliss, he felt the powerful jerking seize of the muscles in his pelvis, his stomach; he looked back to Asra, biting his lip before whining: “I’m gonna – gonna come...”

With a grunt, Asra pulled out as Julian flipped over onto his back, a tawny hand finding purchase in auburn locks as he yanked and plunged back in. With a twisted smirk, he growled, “Show me you can last, Ilya. If you come before me, I might have to punish you.” 

Julian moaned and sneered as he focused on holding back his orgasm, spreading his legs wider and rolling his hips up so Asra could go deeper and harder, urging him closer to his own release. Asra grinned wickedly and didn’t take the bait, keeping his pace. In truth, he was close, too – it would only be a minute or so now, but he loved seeing Julian squirm. 

He was right – soon he felt the sweet tensing of his muscles, the rush of heat and blood that signaled that his orgasm was at the threshold. He pulled out again, making Julian groan, before wrapping his hand around Julian’s cock and pumping furiously; Julian knew exactly what to do, grasping Asra’s own erection and feverishly finishing him. 

Asra came first, with Julian close behind him, as thick ropes of cum spread themselves over Julian’s stomach and chest, both of them grunting and panting with ecstasy. 

Asra sat back heavily onto his feet, his breath coming back to him steadily as his head stopped spinning, and took in the wreck in front of him; Julian, spread-eagled and covered in sweat and cum, massaging his temples with a thumb and two fingers, a satisfied grin snaking across his face. 

“I’d forgotten what a good dicking can do for a hangover...” He chuckled shakily, breathily, opening his one good eye and locking coy gazes with Asra. The magician laughed lightly, leaning back onto his arms; he lazily flicked his wrist, magicking the mess away, while Julian tentatively sat up on his elbows. When he winced, Asra’s hand habitually flew to the doctor’s pubis, ready to heal whatever damage had been done, soothe any pain, but his magic found none. 

Asra shook his head. “The price you paid for this must have been steep.” 

Julian let out a barking laugh, the still-glowing mark on his neck bobbing with his Adam’s apple. “If this is your idea of pillow talk...”

“Ilya, I’m serious...the Arcana don’t make deals like this lightly.” Asra’s brows furrowed. “And depending on who you made this deal with, they may come collecting.” 

Julian sat up now. “Let them. I don’t have much to lose anyway.” 

Asra’s brows softened, his eyes growing cloudy and sad. “Would Iris feel the same way?” 

Julian’s face fell with his shoulders. “Must you ruin the mood?” 

Asra laughed lightly. “You can’t run from Iris forever. You know she’ll track you down eventually; she has the Arcana at her back.” 

Julian closed his eyes and stood, rolling his neck and resting his long hands on his naked hips. When he opened his eyes, his gaze was far away. “I’ll talk to her...properly, this time...” 

“Good.” Asra said, standing also. “Now, what’s a body have to do for breakfast around here?” 

“Oh, your body’s done plenty.” Julian replied with a roguish wink.

*******

Iris woke with a gasp, sitting up so fast from the chaise she was resting on that she nearly headbutted Portia; the handmaiden was changing the washcloth on Iris’s forehead. Iris’s eyes darted around their surroundings, panicked; Portia’s hand found Iris’s shoulder and rubbed comfortingly.

“You’re all right, now, you’re in Milady’s rooms.” Portia clucked, her voice soothing, soft. “Darling ‘Mila carried you here after Nadia and I practically dragged you out of the Count’s room. You hit your head pretty hard when you fell.”

Iris winced, now feeling the sharp pain at the back of her neck. It pounded through her skull, almost hurting worse than the splitting headache that rose between her eyes when she remembered why she had fainted; the hellish form of Lucio over her, pinning her limbs down, his hot breath in her ear…

Something wiggled against Iris’s chest – she looked down, and found Faust curled up in the valley between her neck and breasts, her sleek body vibrating; the familiar nuzzled her snout against Iris’s chin, her tongue flicking furiously. 

_Worried..._

The door opened; it was Nadia, flanked by Ami and Primula, who brought lunch in on two silver trays, fresh salad and fruit with a vibrant yellow soup, smelling of turmeric and lemon, swirled with yogurt and red chili oil and showered with bright green herbs. 

“Oh, thank goodness, Iris, you’re awake.” Nadia crooned, sitting at the end of the chaise at Iris’s feet. Ami and Primula bowed; Iris noticed that Ami eyed her with something like worry and Primula’s brow was knit as they exited the room. Their concern warmed Iris’s heart; she made a mental note to thank them. 

Nadia eyed the two handmaidens as they closed the door behind them, then turned to Iris, her hand finding her friend’s knee. “Portia and I both saw the thing in the bedroom that attacked you. Was it…?” Nadia couldn’t finish the thought. 

Iris nodded, breathing in for seven counts and out for seven counts as her head throbbed. “It was Lucio. Or, what’s left of him?” She wished that Asra were here – to hold her, soothe her, to explain to her what she saw. 

“Was he a ghost?” Portia asked, a little excitedly, as she handed the soup to Iris – the bowl was warm, but not too hot, in Iris’s hands, comforting her. 

She shook her head. “I’m not certain...but I don’t know if I would describe him that way. He...he was able to push me, to hold me down. Sometimes lost spirits are able to interact with our realm, but most often, they linger between worlds because something tethers them here. It almost seemed like...Lucio was alive...but barely.” She tried a spoonful of the soup – it was spicier than she expected, but delicious and light, warming.

Portia shuddered. “How is that possible? His body burnt to a crisp.” 

Iris’s head pounded again. “I have no idea...the only thing I can think of is if he was in another realm while his body died, like he was astral projecting. It’s possible his spirit is alive while his body is gone.” 

Nadia snorted, her forkful of greens hovering. “Lucio didn’t have the patience for even the simplest of magic. Our court magician tried to teach him while he was sick to keep him occupied, all in vain.” Nadia’s brow furrowed, her eyes darkening; Iris saw that she had just regained that knowledge, the brief memory. She wondered, with another twinge of pain, if the magician had been Asra. 

“In any case...” Nadia continued. “There’s no way Lucio would have succeeded in something as advanced as astral projecting unless someone was helping him.” 

Iris nodded. The closest she had come herself was traveling to Asra’s gate, and with that, she hadn’t left her body behind. “Was there anyone who could have helped him?”

Nadia snorted. “Lucio was a powerful man; he manipulated many. It wouldn’t surprise me if he strong-armed the magician into helping him, or someone else with magical ability.” 

She shook her head. “I’m not certain...but I don’t know if I would describe him that way. He...he was able to push me, to hold me down. Sometimes lost spirits are able to interact with our realm, but most often, they linger between worlds because something tethers them here. It almost seemed like...Lucio was alive...but barely.” She tried a spoonful of the soup – it was spicier than she expected, but delicious and light, warming.

Portia shuddered. “How is that possible? His body burnt to a crisp.” 

Iris’s head pounded again. “I have no idea...the only thing I can think of is if he was in another realm while his body died, like he was astral projecting. It’s possible his spirit is alive while his body is gone.” 

Nadia snorted, her forkful of greens hovering. “Lucio didn’t have the patience for even the simplest of magic. Our court magician tried to teach him while he was sick to keep him occupied, all in vain.” Nadia’s brow furrowed, her eyes darkening; Iris saw that she had just regained that knowledge, the brief memory. She wondered, with another twinge of pain, if the magician had been Asra. 

“In any case...” Nadia continued. “There’s no way Lucio would have succeeded in something as advanced as astral projecting unless someone was helping him.” 

Iris nodded. The closest she had come herself was traveling to Asra’s gate, and with that, she hadn’t left her body behind. “Was there anyone who could have helped him?”

Nadia snorted. “Lucio was a powerful man; he manipulated many. It wouldn’t surprise me if he strong-armed the magician into helping him, or someone else with magical ability.” 

Iris bit her lip. “Do you remember what the magician looked like?” she asked Nadia. Portia bit loudly into an apple besides them, watching their conversation curiously. 

Nadia shook her head. “I don’t.” 

Iris bit her lip, making a note to ask Asra about it later; even if it wasn’t him, he would certainly remember another powerful magic user at court. She had to ask him about the prisoner anyway; she remembered with a shiver the broken wavering of his voice in the memory. “Well, that’s a dead end for now, but I do think we have a lead.” 

Nadia perked up, and Portia brightened. “Oh? Do tell.” Nadia said. 

Iris swallowed. “The memory I saw of Lucio...was in a dungeon. He was speaking to a prisoner there, called him Muri… I think the spider key was used to imprison him. Lucio mentioned an arena?” 

Nadia’s eyebrows raised. “That must be the coliseum. The dungeons there are expansive.” 

Iris’s heart sank; she suspected as much, but she had hoped it wasn’t true. She had no memories of the coliseum during its heyday, but she and Asra had made many, many clandestine trips to the underground red market now secretly housed in the dungeons underneath. Each time, the sight of the arena sent arcs of foreboding down her spine, and she had to quiet her mind while she was there, or the darkness, the lingering aura of Death, of desolation, would suck her in completely. 

It had gone unused for as far back as her memories would go, but she knew it was once something like a gruesome court and public entertainment in one; criminals from petty thieves to rapists to murderers to treasonists were forced to fight for their lives against fearsome opponents – starved lions, rabid bears, each other – while crowds watched. She had even heard whispers around the city of a fearsome, inhuman gladiator who was undefeated in battle, effectively the coliseum’s executioner.

Iris gasped. The man in her memory…her intuition yanked at her heart, her clairvoyance screamed in her ear. That man...the executioner? He was the answer. He had something they needed...and she had something he needed.

“We need to find that prisoner.” Iris said firmly. “I don’t know how he’s connected to all of this, but I know he is. I can feel it. Nadia, do you know anything about a gladiator that Lucio imprisoned at the coliseum?” Iris knew it was a long shot, but she had to be certain.

Nadia shook her head. “If I knew of it before, the memory is long gone.”

Iris chewed her lip. “Then the only option is to check out the coliseum. See if we can’t find another lead.” 

Nadia nodded once. “Then to the coliseum we’ll go. We’ll leave at once, if you’re feeling up to it.” 

Iris nodded, but she bit her lip. “You can’t come with me. Either of you.” 

Nadia furrowed her brows at Iris; Portia pursed her lips in annoyance before speaking. “If you think I’m going to let you waltz out of the palace by yourself after you just passed out this morning –” 

Iris felt a prickle of anger surge in her sternum as she interjected. “I used too much magic; it was an extenuating circumstance. I can handle myself.” 

Nadia frowned. “You’ve proven yourself quite capable, Iris – I have no doubt you can handle this. But I want to come with you.” Portia nodded at Iris’s side. 

“You can’t, Nadia.” Iris said. “It’s...it’s dangerous.” 

Nadia laughed now. “You think I don’t know about the black market in the dungeons? Come now, Iris. If the merchants down there weren’t so meticulous about sourcing their wares and who they sell them to, I would have put a stop to it long ago. They are amazingly effective at self-regulating, and draw many magic users to the city.” 

Iris tried her best to hide her shock; she wasn’t sure why she was surprised, yet she was. “Fine, but we can’t go there dressed like this.” Iris gestured to her delicate dress, Nadia’s lace and velvet. “You’ll be spotted in an instant. So will you, Portia. Enough people know you work here.” 

Nadia wiggled her brows. “Then we shall play a little game of dress-up.”

*******

Iris had to hand it to Nadia – their costumes were a stroke of genius. 

Iris had balked at wearing all white again, especially to the bazaar, which was always awash in a dizzying riot of color, but nobody gave the three of them a second glance as they moved through the crowded streets of the Saturday market, the stalls around them packed with people as the throng muscled and ebbed around them. Nuru tribeswomen were common at this time of the week, coming in from the Najwa desert across the Vesuvian strait to sell or trade their fine woven desert-grass goods, spectacularly dyed rugs and baskets and table settings. Even though the three of them lacked the distinctive cyan tattoos on their foreheads, they were young enough to pass as unmarried; no one so much as blinked at them.

Even in the chilly January air, Iris was sweating – she felt beads of moisture pooling against the back of her neck, on her upper lip. She was not used to wearing this many layers, and though the fabric of her headscarf was light, it felt heavy to her pounding head; her breath felt fetid and swampy against the cloth that covered her nose and mouth. The crowd wasn’t helping – normally the press of bodies wasn’t a trigger for her anymore, but after her morning, she felt a familiar shimmering panic rising in her chest. If Faust weren’t coiled against her shoulders under her headwrap, sweetly nudging her cool head against Iris’s hot skin, Iris might have panicked and bolted. 

Portia and Nadia flanked Iris; they were also dressed in all white, their entire bodies covered in layer upon layer of clothing, save for their hands and eyes. They followed her through the crowd as she picked her way across the winding streets and canals to the coliseum; it loomed ahead of them now as the bodies thinned out. By the time the three of them reached the tall, arched marble gateway, there wasn’t a soul in sight. 

Iris wasted no time walking to the center of the vast arena; even her soft footfalls, the fabric of her footwraps barely scraping against the dusty ground, echoed through the thousands and thousands of stone seats. It was odd to be here during the day; whenever she and Asra came, it was dusk, when the market was peaking again, and they were able to slip by the guards unbothered. Even with the midafternoon light, it took her a moment to find the trapdoor; she scraped the dust off the worn wood and pulled the round metal latch with both hands. 

“Down the rabbit hole.” Iris whispered to herself. The trapdoor lead to a dark, narrow staircase, just as she remembered. She gestured to Portia to go first; the short woman didn’t even have to stoop to not hit her head, but Nadia behind her nearly had to double over. Iris scrambled behind them and latched the trapdoor, casting an orb of orange light so they could all see. 

The staircase was long, but it lead them directly to the snaking, round corridor that used to house prisoners in gruesome cells; now, the cells had been repurposed into makeshift shops, sheets and curtains thrown over the bulk of cages and the stone walls decorated with tapestries, curtains, repurposed shiplap, even crude frescoes. The vaulted ceilings were strung with paper lanterns, snaking lanyards of red, orange, and purple, washing the entire hallway with a sensuous glow. The air was hazy with incense, tobacco, and cannabis smoke – scents Iris found oddly comforting, despite their overwhelming strength. 

Even though it was midday, the hallways were packed, the vendors hawking their wares and negotiating loudly with stony-faced customers, selling everything from rare and potentially dangerous potion ingredients, to exotic small animals and plants from far-away lands, to jewelry charmed with enchantments that would make a whore blush. There were fortune tellers, teahouses, taverns, gambling parlors, even a tiny restaurant selling saucy, rich-smelling fried noodles from the Busan peninsula, halfway around the world from Vesuvia. The cacophony of commerce echoed through the narrow corridor, making it impossible to be heard; Iris grabbed the wrists of her companions and pulled them gently into a quieter stall selling gris-gris, colored candles, new world herbs and cloth dolls. 

“Should we split up?” Portia asked first, her soft sweet voice muffled through her neck wrap. 

Nadia shook her head. “It would be wise for us to stick together down here. Iris was right that this place is not the safest...the crowds down here can be quite rough.” 

Iris raised her eyebrows. “Have you been here before, Nadia?” 

Nadia’s eyes twinkled; if it weren’t for the scarf covering her mouth, Iris was sure the Countess would be smiling coyly. 

“Nadia’s right.” Iris agreed. “Let’s stay in each other’s sights. Try not to wander off on your own.” 

“What exactly should we be looking for?” Portia asked; she reached to pick up one of the dolls to examine it, but Nadia’s hand flew out and grabbed the redhead’s wrist gently, a warning.

Iris chewed her lip. “Anything about the executioner. He was massive, over two meters tall, with long black hair well past his waist. He had a battleaxe, which I’ve never seen before, aside from in books about the south south. I can’t imagine people would forget someone like him.” 

Portia nodded, and without a word, crossed over the aisle to the stall across from them, where an angular old woman sold vibrant, chirping insects in cages and mesh baskets. 

Nadia turned to the seller in this stall, an ashy-skinned man with a bald head, wearing nothing but a pair of soft harem pants and a vest. She picked up a pure black candle, examining it as if with the intention to buy, before purring, “Did you ever watch any of the battles in the coliseum here?” 

The man nodded once, watching Nadia warily; his light eyes flitted once to Iris, who met his gaze carefully, before turning back to the woman in front of him. 

“Was there any fighter who stood out to you? Someone, perhaps, incredibly tall and imposing?” 

The man laughed, his eyebrows raised. “You mean the Scourge?” 

Nadia blinked once. “The who?” 

“The Scourge. He was undefeated in the arena. His fights were more like executions, all ending the same way – heads rolling, literally.” 

Iris inhaled sharply. “Do you know what happened to him?” 

The man’s eyes swung to Iris’s now – she could sense he was getting annoyed with their questions. “Who knows? The Count kicked it and the Scourge disappeared. Don’t blame him. He was hated ‘round here.”

Nadia opened her mouth to ask another question, but Iris put her hand on the back of her arm, guiding her out of the stall. “We have a name. The Scourge.” She whispered. She saw a flash of white in her periphery – Portia had joined them at her elbow. 

“Whoever that poor man, the locust breeder did not like him. She said one of her sons was put in the arena for attacking a guard while drunk, and the guy...” Portia made a motion like a slice across her neck. 

Iris winced. “That shopkeep called him the Scourge.” 

“The Scourge...” Portia said quietly, turning the name over in her mouth. “Iris, I hope you know what you’re doing. I’m not sure I’d want to tango with this guy.” 

Iris smiled a half smile. “The light will make all things clear.” 

Portia rolled her eyes. “Pretty sayings won’t keep an axe off your neck.” 

They continued sniffing around, but it was the same no matter who they asked – they remembered him, remembered him being undefeated, but nothing else. No one seemed to have any curiosity about who he was or what he was up too; all they knew was that he was gone now. Many seemed to have completely forgotten what he looked like. 

Iris furrowed her brow in confusion as Nadia and Portia entered the quilted flap of a card-reader’s booth – Iris leaned against a makeshift wooden wall, her gaze drawn upwards above the heads of the crowd; a sign hung over her head, the establishment’s name painted unskillfully on a wooden slab and hung on two crooked meathooks; the Jagged Dagger. 

Iris felt a little surge of magic, cool and tingling, escape from her fingertips; she practically saw curling tendrils of it float in front of her, opalescent, pulsing, through the door of the tavern. With a quick glance back at her friends, whose white footwraps were all that could be seen under the heavy curtain, she ducked through the swinging wooden door. 

The room was musty, not crowded – there were only a few patrons, two sloshed old seadogs in the corner, nursing metal tankards of foamy beer, one patron at the end of the bar wrapped in a dark cloak, and the wiry bartender, face, neck and arms covered in crude tattoos. Hesitantly, Iris sat on a tall, wobbly stool at the warped plank that served as a bar. The bartender raised his inked brows at her. 

“Surprise me.” She said quietly, placing a pentacle on the bar. She was quickly brought a stein full of mead so dark and thick it was nearly black. Iris sipped it; it was incredibly dry but tasty, flavored with blackcurrants and elderflower. 

The wiry bartender leaned forward on his elbows, looking at her curiously. “Heard you were looking for the Scourge.” 

Iris raised her eyebrows at him, saying nothing. She took another sip of her mead – it was soothing her headache, mercifully; Julian wouldn’t be happy if he saw her. Her heart twisted painfully, remembering what transpired the night before, and she couldn’t keep her face from falling. Julian would love this place, love the red market, if he were here with her. 

“Don’t despair, pretty thing.” The bartender said, misreading her expression. “Ask the memory dealer. Three stalls down on the right, across the way. He might have what you’re looking for.” 

Iris wrinkled her nose. Memory dealer…?

“This was his cell, yanno.” A voice said, a drunken warble, from the corner. It was the cloaked man, short and stocky, with salt-and-pepper stubble dotting his well-formed chin and neck, sitting at the very end of the bar – he pressed a filthy fingertip into the counter. “That prick Lucio kept him locked up for nearly three years.” 

Iris scooted over the two sweats so she was sitting next to him. “How do you know that?” She asked, her brows furrowed, as she took another sip. 

“I locked him up every night. I was a guard here before it was abandoned.” He hiccuped now, and took another swig of his drink – Iris could smell spiced rum. 

_Careful…_ Faust whispered to her, waking from her slumber, her tongue flicking against Iris’s collarbone. 

“What was he like?” Iris probed him. He raised his eyebrows. 

“You’re a curious little thing for a tribeswoman, ain’t ya? He was quiet. Hardly ever heard him speak, unless it was to say thank you.” 

“Thank you?” 

The man shrugged. “He always said thank you when he was brought food. He passed the time oddly, though. He liked to knit. Smuggled in my ex-wife’s old needles for him, brought him scraps of yarn. Knew he wasn’t going to use them to break out or shank me. Just didn’t seem like the type.” The man belched now. “I’m not sure what that bitch Lucio had on him to keep him there.” 

Iris was leaning forward now. “And you...you remember him?” 

The man raised his eyebrows now. “Hard to forget an odd guy like that. He even knitted me a pair of socks. Out of sheer boredom, I’m sure. I’m wearin’ ‘em now, actually. They’ve held up all these years.” 

Iris considered this as she took another long sip. “You don’t know what happened to him, do you?” 

The man shrugged. “If I was him, I’d’ve gotten the hell out of Vesuvia. Too many horrible memories. Those fights...they were always a bloodbath. He never talked about it, but I could tell it weighed heavily on him. At least one a day, for three years. Over a thousand men and women.” 

Iris gulped, her gut twisting; she could think of no response but to drain her drink. A thousand people… a thousand bodies… She flipped another pentacle onto the bar, locking eyes with the bartender and gesturing to the salt-and-peppered man with her chin. 

“Thank you for the pleasant conversation.” She said as she slid off her chair, but the man grabbed her arm, a glint in his eye. 

“You’re unmarried, right? You ain’t got those tattoos.” 

Iris tried to wrench her arm away, but his grip was tight, insistent. Iris’s eyes narrowed; her magic was pulsing hot through her veins now, ready to boil over. On her shoulder, she could feel Faust tensing, ready to strike.

“I gave you what you wanted...I want something in return.” The man was showing his crooked, graying teeth now, his lips twisted into a grin. 

Iris made her skin so wickedly hot that the man pulled his hand away in shock; he could feel it even through the fabric of her sleeve. She didn’t hesitate, clocking him in the jaw with a right hook, then grabbing his greasy hair while he was stunned and smashing his head forcefully into the bar. 

“If you touch me again without my permission...” She growled into his ear, his head trapped as she pressed the weight of her arm and torso painfully into his neck. “You’ll end up with my athame in your jugular.” She released him as he moaned in pain, and flounced out of the tavern without another word. 

As Iris pressed her hand into the rough wood of the swinging door, she felt an uncomfortable heat swim over her, sharpening her senses as the corridor blurred – 

_The chilly night bit ferociously against Iris’s cheeks, her eyes running wild with tears; it was bitterly cold for a late-summer night, and Iris’s soles were practically numb as she picked across the cobblestoned streets in her bare feet. _

_She acutely felt the drunk, curious eyes boring into her as she wandered through twisting alleyways lit with rosy pink lights, the air boiling with the noise of taverns, gambling halls, music venues, and brothels, her arms huddled across her chest, shoulders hunched against the cold. Her white dress, so carefully sewn with long ruffles of lace, was filthy, singed, covered in soot, and every time she ran her fingers through her long hair, her braids already unraveled, patches of blackened blonde came away with her palms. _

_She had nowhere to go. She didn’t even know the city, know where she was – she could barely see anything in front of her, her eyes were so flush with tears, though at this point, she wasn’t sobbing, sniffling, wailing, just numb, numb with cold, numb with…_

_A large, sweaty hand roughly grabbed her bare shoulder, making her jump, yelp with surprise – it was a man, his breath stinky and his teeth yellow as he smiled widely at her. He was so, so large, barrel chested and tall, and his face was young and soft, but a chill of intuition snaked down Iris’s spine, even as she couldn’t find the strength to move. _

_“What’s a pretty young thing like you doing in the Pleasure district?” He asked in a tone that would have seemed friendly, were it not for the leery glint in his eyes. “Did you lose your way, little girl?”_

_Iris stammered, gritted her teeth. “I...I don’t...” _

_The man’s grip on her tightened. “You’re freezing. Come on, I’ll take you back to my place. Feed you, warm you up, treat you good.” _

_Iris’s heart hammered and panic spiraled through her, hot and dark like a flame. She shook her head violently, tried to jerk herself away, but he was too strong. _

_“Come on, little girl, I know you’re scared...” _

_“HEY!” A voice, sharp and bright, cut through the low rumble of the street, and then there was a thuddy smack. The man winced, wheeled around – it was a girl, not much older than Iris, tall and gangly and all angles, narrow hips and boney shoulders. Her head was shaved, and her dark lips were lifted into a snarl, revealing a wide gap between her two front teeth, the edge of her palm sharp against the tender place between his shoulderblades. _

_“She sai’ no, ya pervert, now crack on!” She shouted, her Hispaniol accent thick and musical. “Befor’ I wallop ya where it counts!” _

_With a sneer, he let go of Iris and slunk away into the shadows – the girl, with a ferocious growl, spit after him; then she turned to Iris, her expression softening a little. _

_“Whaddaya tink yer doin’ out here dresst like dat, hun?” She asked, reaching out and touching Iris’s shoulder. “Ya allright? He din’ hurtcha, did he?” _

_Iris shook like a leaf, and her lip trembled violently before she burst into sobs – like a child, a child, she covered her face in her hands and rubbed her tears away. Warm arms enveloped her, the girl’s voice cooing in her ear. _

_“S’okay, s’okay. C’mon, now, there’s a good luv. Aster’s gotcha.” She was gentle as she rubbed Iris’s back soothingly. “Let’s getcha inside before ya catch ya death.” _

Iris was shivering, her hand trembling on the doorframe as her vision swam back to her. Aster. She had met Aster when they were just kids. What had she been doing, wandering the streets like that, alone…? What would have happened to her if Aster hadn’t found her, saved her…?

A warm hand pulled her from her haze – Portia’s, on her shoulder, her touch just like Aster’s. Her brows were furrowed with worry. “Iris, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She murmured, her eyes darting over Iris’s face – again, with a pang, Iris thought of Julian. At Portia’s shoulder, Nadia was eyeing the tavern door warily.

Iris swallowed back her thoughts, and put her hands on both women’s shoulders, steering them through the crowd to the right – the image of the salt-and-pepper guard emerging, looking for a real fight, swam across Iris’s vision. “I have a lead.” She whispered to them. “Follow me.” 

Three stalls down to the right, and across; the three of them were now standing in front of a heavy curtain with no sign. Apprehensively, Iris raised the curtain, and the three of them stepped inside. It was darker in here than even the tavern, lit only from above with what looked like the swirling miasma of the night sky, purples and indigos and blacks, dotted with stars. From the gloom, a lanky man, long dirty blond hair braided and thrown over his shoulder, emerged. 

“I heard you’re sniffing around for the Scourge.” He said, his voice raspy and worn. 

“What if we are?” Portia said, her shoulders squaring. 

The man lifted one nostril as he looked Portia up and down, appraising her. “I deal only in the finest secondhand memories. Everything I can show you either comes straight from my own memory, or was extracted from a personal item tethered to the original owner. I have quite a few from the Scourge himself.” 

Iris raised her eyebrows, impressed. “That’s quite some magic. How can we be assured they’re the real deal?” 

The memory dealer smiled. “The first one’s free...so you can be assured of its quality.” 

Portia loosed one barking laugh, one that achingly reminded Iris of Julian. “Can’t argue with free.” 

He showed the three of them into a tiny booth, and the women crowded in, their bodies pressed together; Iris could smell Nadia’s fine jasmine perfume, the gentle scent of sweet peas from Portia’s hair. There was one tiny eyehole, about navel height – all three of them had to crouch and bend to look through it. 

“Are you ready?” The memory dealer asked from behind the partition. The light through the eyehole glowed red, and Iris took a deep breath, steeling herself for what they were about to see. 

_The first image that swam in front of them was the face of a young man, younger even than Portia, collapsed in the sand in front of them, an incredible steel-toed boot pressed into his chest as he gasped and struggled for breath. There was a great clank of metal as giant hands grasped a horrifically large, glinting battleaxe – Iris recognized it immediately from Lucio’s memory. The reflection of the Scourge’s sorrowful green eyes and sable hair flashed briefly in the wide polished blade as he raised it over his head, ready to strike. _

_Around them, the arena erupted into boos and jeers. Iris could only catch a few of the shouts – “You’re scum, Scourge!” “Show no mercy, Scourge!” – before a nasal voice cut through the din. It was Lucio, laughing maniacally. _

_The view turned as the Scourge swung his eyes up to the balcony just above him – Lucio was lounging in his chair, his legs thrown over the balustrade, bellowing as if he was having the time of his life. Besides him, Nadia sat, stony-faced; Iris’s heart tightened and her stomach churned. Lucio noticed now that the Scourge had paused, and he scowled. _

_“Carry out your dark duty, Scourge!” He shouted, his face twisting with annoyance. “Or need I remind you of your onerous debt?” _

_With a grunt, their view shifted slowly back to the man under the Scourge’s boot, and with one fluid motion…_

Iris squeezed her eyes shut, but she couldn’t block out the whistling of steel slicing through air, the horrible squelching, the gentle thud, that swam through her ears. The memory faded. 

_Big friend…_ Faust whimpered, wrapping around Iris’s shoulders and squeezing gently, her coiled body vibrating against Iris’s skin.

A hand found Iris’s wrist and grasped it tightly, almost painfully, long nails digging into her skin through the layers of clothing. Nadia’s face was drained of blood, her eyes fixed straight ahead – Iris noticed with a soft inhale that a mark, almost identical to Julian’s, was glowing on her forehead. On her other side, Portia was sobbing softly; Iris wrapped her other arm around the redhead’s shoulder and pulled her in closer. 

The curtain that boxed them into the tiny stall lifted, and the memory dealer gestured for them to exit. Iris looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes steely. 

“The item you used to create this memory. Do you still have it?” 

The man smiled a half smile, his eyes narrowing. “I do...and I’d be willing to part with it. For a price.” 

“Name it.” Nadia said, suddenly, her neck snapping up, her eyes still far away. 

“200 pentacles.” He said, without missing a beat. Iris flinched – a steep price indeed, for a tether. 

Without a word, Nadia reached into the white sash tied around her waist and procured two oblong discs of pure gold, each nearly the size of her own hand. The man’s eyes bulged, and Nadia’s eyes flashed with amusement. “The item first, if you would be so kind.”

The man practically scrambled back behind the partition, returning very shortly with a simple hairbrush made of boar bristles – there were still long black hairs nestled in brush’s head. Iris held out her hand, and the memory dealer gently placed it in her palm. 

The token practically hummed against Iris’s skin, awash in a – familiar? – aura, forest green tinged with yellow-gold, just like his eyes, but gentle, so gentle, secretive and spiked with pain. She saw the forest, a spectacular cathedral of cedars, and an old, warped wooden door. Iris gasped – she knew where he was. Not terribly far, maybe three hours walk. Deep in the southern forest. 

Her eyes swung to Nadia, wide. Nadia handed the coins to the memory dealer without a word, and Portia ushered them quickly out of the stall before the dealer could change his mind.

Nadia cradled her head in both hands now – she pressed her back into the stone wall between stalls and barely suppressed a whimper of pain. Portia, alarmed, reached her hand out as if to touch Nadia, to soothe her, but pulled her hand back at the last minute. 

“A headache, Milady…?” she whispered. 

“The worst one I can remember.” Nadia muttered, her voice strained. “How...how could I have forgotten such an atrocious miscarriage of justice? How could I have allowed it in the first place?”

Simmering panic rose in Iris as the Countess’s eyes began to mist over. “How could I have failed like this…?”

Suddenly, Nadia retched and jerked her body over to the side; she vomited a small amount of yellow liquid onto the mossy stone floor. Thinking quickly, Iris grabbed her companions' shoulders and cast an obscurity spell so Nadia could be sick in private.

Nadia held her hand over her mouth, two glittering trails tracing themselves down her finely formed face – Portia deftly procured a handkerchief and dotted it on the Countess’s cheeks, clucking soothingly, just as she had done for Iris earlier. 

At the sight of them, Nadia on her knees now, Portia fussing over her, Iris felt the familiar rush of heat in her chest as she was plunged backwards into a new memory. 

_Iris was standing over a prone Nadia, bent double with her head over the porcelain commode in what looked like her private water closet, tiled beautifully with hand-painted marble dotted with lavender blooms and white fluffy clouds against blistering blue – the entire ceiling was painted to resemble the noonday sky, complete with a sun, a glittering gold chandelier that swung gracefully from the center of the ceiling. _

_Iris was shocked to feel a riot of fiery emotions blazing in her gut as she surveyed the mess of a woman in front of her: disgust, contempt, simmering anger, but also concern...abandonment? When her voice rose from her chest, it was dripping with disdain. “This is your response, Nadi? Getting smashed before lunch?” _

_Nadia retched again, a few slippery strings of bile falling from her lips. Iris reached over her to flush the toilet, which was full of what Iris could only presume was partially digested white wine. Nadia rested her head against the bowl, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand ungracefully, smearing the glossy lipstick on her lips across her cheek. _

_“What would...what would you have me do, Iris?” She mumbled, her voice slurred, cumbersome in her mouth. _

_Iris sighed in frustration, her arms flying out wide. “We told you this was coming – we told you we needed you to move. You have three times the power of Ilya and I combined, Nadia, and we tried to stop Lucy from passing this law. The announcement is causing riots in the Southside and the sinking district, Nadi. People are terrified.” _

_“I have no power.” Nadia murmured, wretchedly, her eyes stinging with tears. “This court gives me absolutely no power unless Lucy is dead. I’m useless.” _

_“No, you’re fucking not, Nadi!” Iris was so angry that she clenched her teeth, the words hissing out of her like steam. “You could have done something – anything – to convince him not to let this pass the Chamber. You're a ruthless tactician, and he's a fucking moron; you could have easily outsmarted him. You could have summoned Nazali like we asked you to a year ago, you could have brought the Prakran army down on his head, by the Gods, but you’re too proud. Hell, you could have fucking dicked him down until he submitted. So what did you do instead? Get drunk about it, just like you are now?” _

_Nadia wheeled on Iris, her eyes ablaze. “You forget who you’re speaking to.” _

_Iris laughed darkly. “Honesty in all things, bitch. You’re drinking away your problems, and you’re not paying attention.” Iris stooped to her knees now, and grasped her friend’s shoulders gently, meeting her eyes, imploring. “You cannot keep doing this. We. Need. You. Vesuvia needs you.” _

_“It’s too late.” Nadia wrenched her eyes closed and turned her face away, sobbing now. “They’re ferrying the plagued to the Lazaret as we speak.” _

When Iris returned, slapped with cold, Portia was helping Nadia to stand. Nadia’s garnet eyes fell on Iris’s. 

“Dear Iris, do you have what you need to track down the Scourge?” She was attempting to keep her voice even, but Iris could practically feel her head pulse in pain with each wavering word. 

Iris nodded. “He’s still in the Vesuvian realm, but well outside the city. Out by the Chapel of Cedars. The tether will get me there.” 

Nadia smiled wanly. “I’m glad to hear it. Unfortunately, I will not be able to join you for that part of this mission.” 

Portia nodded. “I’m going to take Milady back to the palace so she can rest.” 

Iris nodded, her eyes searching Nadia’s face; again, she could not read the Countess, but she was clearly shaken to her core by what she had seen. Iris swooped in, her lips inches from Nadia’s ear. 

“Even the strongest person has a limit. You were at the end of your rope; you did what you needed to do to survive.” She whispered. “We all did. I’m seeing that with every memory I regain.” 

Nadia’s gaze flew to Iris’s, her garnet eyes wide; for the first time, Iris saw the graceful veneer peeled away, plunging Iris into her fear, her unfathomable loneliness, her devastating powerlessness. Iris’s hand rushed out to grasp at her shoulder. 

“You’re not alone. You have me, you have Portia. We’ll figure it out together.” Iris said soothingly. “For now, go rest.” 

Nadia nodded, not able to meet Iris’s eyes as hers misted over again. Portia squeezed Iris’s hand once, reassuringly, but her expression was pained as her eyes flitted back to the Countess, who was cradling her head in her hands again, now to hide her tears. Without a word, they parted ways, Nadia and Portia back to the palace, Iris to depths of the southern forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _MOC: Nadia's character is fascinating. There's so much left unsaid about her relationship with Lucy that's delicious (and sad, don't get me wrong) to play with. _
> 
> _Also, Asrian. They're delicious and sad to play with, too. Their dynamic is fuxjed and I want to break it. That's it. _
> 
> _Finally, get ready for a sweet Muri sighting in the Hermit. byeeeeee _


	7. The Hermit, Part 1: He Makes the Sound the Sea Makes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Frou Frou - Shh **
> 
> _ CW: No content warnings _

By the time Iris even reached the forest’s edge, night was falling, dusk breathing its heavy purples and grays into the swirling clouds gathering overhead; the path in front of her was already cloaked in shadows that shivered and lengthened as the sun set. Iris didn’t relish the thought of traveling through the forest in the dark, and she certainly didn’t relish the thought of arriving at a potentially violent stranger’s home in the middle of the night, but her intuition urged her forward, her voice surprising her as she hummed, sang softly in the careful stillness: _“We’ve seen through the haze and the spit in our eyes, and I still have a prayer...”_

She cast a soft orange orb of light; she knew the way to the Chapel of Cedars, but not well enough to navigate it in the dark. Asra had taken her there several times to practice more difficult spells that could have blowback if she lost control – it was remote enough that the worst that could happen is a tree could catch fire or she’d knock some birds out of the sky. Anyone who lived this deep in the wilderness was someone who didn’t want to be found. 

For hours she had picked her way through the forest, left alone with her thoughts, her music, in the meditation of walking; she had much to unpack and examine from the last three days. Julian’s curse, the gift that saved her life, not wrought by Asra but an unknown entity – a fearsome one, at that. The same mark, on Nadia’s forehead, appearing suddenly in the red market. The fact that Iris had worked in the palace alongside Asra – and Julian – in Nadia’s household, as her Fool, of all things. Lucio’s rape of Nadia when she was just a teen, their hasty marriage, her turning to drink. The trophies Iris found in Lucio’s room, stowed safely away in the secret pocket of her satchel. This ferocious hermit, the Scourge, the executioner, once a prisoner of the Count. 

And, finally...the fact that she had died? Nearly four years ago now, and something, someone, brought her back, somehow. She held them each separate, but closely, in her mind. All these pieces fit together somehow in this twisted narrative, but in ways that Iris could not fathom together now. Her heart twisted and her head ached, even in that crisp, pleasant January night air. 

Then, there was Julian’s cryptic note – even now, as the evening lingered, Iris had no resolution, no assurance he was safe. Faust had burrowed into the satchel, tired of bobbing on the magician’s shoulders; Iris thought of calling to Asra through her, but she fought back the urge. She wanted desperately to know if Asra had found Julian – her intuition told her all was well, but she couldn’t stop the panic that rose in her like an overwhelming tide when Julian’s face, his devilish eye, his sweet smile, crossed her mind. And then...there was Asra...

She was nearly to the cedar grove when she heard the pattering of drops on the leaves above her, felt a few dripping onto her brow; soon the cloudy night sky was torn asunder, and the rain fell on Iris in torrents, quickly soaking her white garments. The brush in her pocket pulsed – she wrapped her hand around it, knowing she was not far from her mark now. Wrapping her cloak more tightly over her shoulders, she sprinted through the ferny, mushroomy underbrush, compelled through the forest by the tether’s voice. 

She kept running and running – she was drenched to her core and her legs were about to give out when the door from her vision appeared, worn wood wedged between rough stone that created the front wall of a dugout, built into the roots of one of the biggest, gnarliest cedars Iris had ever seen. The door was nearly two and a half meters tall; Iris balked a little as she approached it, feeling very small. She hesitated a moment before pounding her fist loudly against the warped cedar wood. 

“Anyone there? Please, it’s pouring!” Iris shouted over the roar of the rain in her ears. There was no answer – she rattled the knob, expecting it to be locked, but the door swung open. Iris took a deep breath, making her decision, and slipped across the threshold. 

It was dark and freezing inside, and the air was damp from the rain, but Iris couldn’t help but gape as she glanced around. The home was a marvel of craftsmanship – the expertly thatched roof allowed the fragrant roots of the cedar above her to weave gracefully through the tall ceiling, and a carefully laid yellow-bricked hearth, surrounded by shelves stacked with hand-formed and painted clay pots, plates, cups, along with sealed glass jars of dry goods and herbs, framed the far wall. The whole hut was permeated with the gentle, heady smell of myrrh.

There was a long single bed set in the corner on a carved wooden frame (single for the giant hermit, probably – to Iris, it looked like it could fit two of her comfortably, three if they cuddled), piled with musky bear pelts of all colors. The table and the two stools around it were handmade, lovingly sanded, impossibly smooth to the touch. There wasn’t much by means of decoration, except for an exceptionally beautiful carving of a brown bear on a shelf in the corner, surrounded by hand-dipped candles in simple wooden votives, and a large chest by the head of the bed, which also served as a seat for warming oneself in front of the hearth.

With a snap of her fingers, Iris lit the fire, casting the cozy home aglow with soft orange light. The tether was breathing peacefully in her cloak; this was where it wanted her to be. Iris bit her lip, considering her next move, before slowly peeling the many white layers off of her body, lifting them with her magic over the roots above her head to dry. She kept her last layer on, a pair of soft leggings and a loose, dolman-sleeved tunic; as much as she wanted to strip everything from her body, it was probably not wise to be found naked in a complete stranger’s home. 

She crouched by the fire, warming her hands, magicking what moisture she could out of the dripping clothes on her back. She took another deep breath – a feeling of deja vu was nagging at the back of her mind, like she had been here in this room before. Was it possible that she had known this man before she lost her memories? Did Asra know him? Julian? 

Faust, awakening from her slumber, poked her head out of Iris’s satchel, which Iris had placed gently on the chest. Her eyes brightened, and she shot straight up, her head darting to and fro as she looked around the room. 

_Big friend? Squeeze?_

Iris knit her eyebrows together, glancing back at the familiar. “What do you mean by ‘friend,’ Faust?” 

_Asra friend. Old friend. Big friend, good squeezing!_ Faust slithered out of Iris’s backpack and snaked up the wall to the bear statuette, curling up contentedly next to it. Iris stood, and gently thumbed the polished wood; she gasped when Asra’s energy flowed into her, his playfulness and curiosity, his soulfulness, his secret sadness. 

Whoever this man was, Asra made this for him. Iris was awash in confusion. How could she have never known of him? Faust had said he was an old friend. How long? How long had Iris not known? Her heart tightened. The prisoner had said something about doing it ‘for him.’ Was the him...?

A voice called to her now, softly – no, now it was many voices, a cacophony of voices, whispering against the base of her neck, friendly, familiar, loving. She wheeled around, eyes falling on the trunk at the head of the bed in front of her. Without hesitation, she wrenched the latches open, shouldering up the heavy, solid-wood lid. 

It was full of clothing, the overwhelming smell of myrrh and musk filling her nostrils, but she knew that was not what was calling to her – she rummaged the garments aside until she reached the very bottom of the chest. Her fingers brushed against something hard, smooth? She wrested it through layers of fur and wool and rough canvas into the soft light. 

It was a box of black lacquered wood in the Nipponese style, inlaid with precious stones, painted wood, and gold, creating a small scene of a white-and-lavender robed woman seated at a pond’s edge, her fingers dipped lazily into the water, her dark eyes staring dreamily down. The scene and the edges of the box were framed with delicate peonies and elegant gold scrollwork. Iris made to open it, but it was locked – no – it was a trick box; there was no keyhole. She could barely form a thought of how she might open it before her fingers, unbidden, pressed on three peonies on three separate sides of the box simultaneously. The tiny flowers sank into their smooth groves, and the lid to the box sprang open with a soft click. 

It seemed, at first, to be a box full of junk, but knowledge arced wildly through Iris as she realized the items were trinkets and keepsakes: a small collection of stones, some precious, some preciously mundane, letters in envelopes and folded notes scrawled on parchment, pressed flowers and plants in wax paper, and other bits and bobs, like currency from other lands, a bluebird’s feather, a felt mask, a cork speckled with gold flake, a lock of mousy hair threaded with silver. 

She carefully picked up the note closest to the top and unfolded it, setting the box down on the dirt floor. Her heart twisted and she breathed in sharply – the script was sloping, hurried, nearly illegible, but Iris had seen it enough now that she could read it easily:

_Please come tonight. At the very least, there’ll be plenty of booze, probably cake. I know you love cake. And booze._

_See you there,  
J_

Iris couldn’t have held it back if she tried. She was enveloped in warmth, overwhelmed with the smell of spring rain, as she was plunged into a memory. 

_Even though it was pouring, Iris sat by the open window, inhaling the deep smell of warm rain and petrichor. The winter had been brutally cold for a desert country, one of the chilliest in recorded history, and Iris welcomed any hint of the warm months to come. A balmy night breeze blew softly through the window, making her skin prickle. _

_To her annoyance, she grew hot from this tiny sensation, and her lip twisted into a sneer. She was achingly horny; her skin begged to be touched – she longed to feel wanted, full – by the Gods, full, again. She hadn’t been held in nearly two months now, not since... _

_A long, lithe body dressed in a sharp black suit and button-up shirt (though, in truth, only two were buttoned near the navel) draped itself into the bench next to her, sitting with one leg folded underneath him. It was Julian, his eyes kind, a small, confused smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. _

_“You know...I didn’t invite you here to sulk in the corner.” He held a cup out to Iris, even though she had been nursing a goblet of barberry mead for the last hour. She took it, uncertain. Almost imperceptibly, he lifted his chin, urging her silently. _

_She took a sip. It was a glowing hot pink, tongue-twistingly sweet and fruity, with the very slightest rum taste – until it slid down her throat and burned like the Devil’s cum. She scrunched up her face in disgust, her eyes flitting to Julian’s in confusion. _

_“What earthside hell is this?” She muttered, and Julian barked laughing. _

_“It’s, ah...it’s called wench’s delight. A punch pirates will make when, well…” He paused, choosing his next words carefully. “When they dock in port towns.” _

_Iris snorted. “When they want to get women wasted so they can fuck, I get it.” She set the cup down next to her barberry mead. Hell, maybe if she got trashed, she could get laid, too. _

_Julian flushed a little. “I, erm...it wasn’t my idea, it was Nadia’s. I mentioned it in a story, and she thought it sounded...fun.” _

_“That sounds like our Nadi.” Iris glanced across the crowded room – the party had grown rowdy, raucous, undoubtedly due to the fact the punch was practically all rum. Someone was playing a rollicking bar hymn on a vielle, and Nadia was dancing some kind of jig on a table with Thandiwe and Amelie, two of the other apprentices, her mouth wide with laughter, her drink sloshing out of her cup. “Completely taking over someone else’s birthday.”_

_Julian threw his arm over the back of the bench, the very tips of his fingers brushing against Iris’s bare shoulder; her skin felt as if it had been electrified. She froze; the last thing she wanted was to sleep with Julian, her friend, now effectively her boss. Yet...if they were drunk...if it was one time…there was that one time..._

_Iris crossed her legs tightly, as if her mind was protesting against her body; perhaps instinctually, Julian crossed his leg over the knee of the leg folded under him. Their thighs were now alarmingly close to touching. Iris wondered if she could escape without hurting his feelings – it was his party, after all. _

_“28, huh? So young to have your own clinic, all these apprentices.” Iris said, waving her hand at the chaos. She hoped small talk would douse her desire. _

_Julian raised his eyebrows, smirking at her roguishly. “I’m not sure who thought it was a good idea to put me in charge, and yet...” He raised his glass slightly. “Here I am, I guess.” _

_Iris raised her glass to him. “Time is a slow march towards Death. May both be kind to you.” _

_Julian sipped his drink, his brow darkening. He hiccuped. _

_Iris arched an eyebrow. “Enjoying yourself?” _

_“Not enough, truly.”_

_“You sure? You seem a little tipsy.” _

_He turned his gaze to her and winked. “Don’t believe me? Maybe now is a good time to practice checking vitals.” _

_Iris’s heart quickened. “I, uh...I guess?” So much for dousing desire._

_“What comes first?” Julian quizzed her, sitting up a little straighter. The doctor is in, Iris thought, a smirk slipping from her pursed lips. _

_“Easy. Temperature.” She touched his forehead with the back of her hand, letting it linger there for a few seconds. “A little flushed, perhaps, but nothing out of the ordinary.” _

_“Good. Next?” _

_“Pulse. Radial artery.” Her fingers found his wrist, searching for the jump; Julian’s graceful hand wrapped around hers and gently lifted her hand to his neck, right where the skin flexed and dipped, casting long shadows against the lean musculature. _

_“It’s more accurate on the carotid.” He said softly, then quieted so Iris could count. His pulse quickened as she pressed her fingertips into the tender skin there, and a delicate flush rose back into his cheeks. Her pulse was racing, too, she noted._

_She pulled her hand away, a little too slowly. “Mostly normal.” _

_Julian smirked. “Next?” _

_Iris gulped. “Breath rate.” Julian held his hands out in a sweeping gesture, his smirk widening, exposing his mostly bare chest. _

_She hesitated for a moment, then leaned over and pressed her ear to the skin over his right lung, further from the heart. Without a stethoscope, and with the noise from the party, it was hard to hear – she plugged her other ear with a finger and listened hard, trying to ignore the coolness of his skin, the musk rising up from his chest hair. There – she heard it – the rustle of air in his lungs. No water, no popping, no sucking. Steady breath in, steady breath out, like listening to the sea in a seashell. She counted softly, then pulled away. _

_“All good.” _

_Julian’s pupils were dilating now as he regarded her, his lips parted slightly. He leaned forward a little towards her. _

_“Two more.” _

_“Are you bleeding?” Iris asked, brows raised. _

_“Not that I know of.” Julian took a sip from his drink, his eyes never leaving hers. _

_“No need to take blood pressure, then...I don’t have a cuff on me, anyway.” _

_“...and?” _

_Iris rolled his eyes at him, clicking her tongue in exasperation. “Are you pregnant? If not, when was your last menstrual cycle?” _

_Julian’s grin stretched across his entire face. “Very good, Iris.” He turned her name over on his tongue like it was the most delicious thing he’d ever had in his mouth. She found herself growing dewy. _

_“I, uh...it’s hot in here? I think I need some air.” She stood, swallowing the last of her mead. Julian rose with her. _

_“I’ll accompany you.” _

_“That’s not necessary.” _

_“It’s my pleasure.” He insisted, not forcibly, but...imploringly. _

_She met his eyes now, searching for something to guide her, for her clairvoyance to alight on. All she found was desire – a slow burn like hers, built up over months, maybe longer – in his dilated eyes, the parted lips, the soft pink flush that flooded his face and neck. Her belly ached with heat. Her body screamed yes, and her head screamed no, but deep inside her, her intuition whispered, something she could barely, barely repeat to herself. _

_She bit her lip, the decision welling up like a geyser in her chest, hot, wet, unstoppable; she nodded. _

_He reddened even more, his eyes wide with shock, as if he hadn’t expected her to say yes. His long fingers found the small of her back, and he guided her gently to the secluded balcony that adjoined the room. It overlooked a long reflecting pool, roiling now as raindrops peppered its surface. An overhang from the rooms above protected them from the deluge. _

_Iris inhaled deeply, taking in the rich, earthy smell of the rain. She noticed that Julian’s hand wasn’t leaving her back, and she leaned into him slightly – she felt his fingers pulse against her bodice, gripping her a little more tightly to adjust to the shift of her weight. Her body surged with heat again, and she wondered if she was flushing as visibly as he was. _

_“I love rain.” She whispered. “It just...cleanses everything. Wipes it all clean.” She closed her eyes again, rolled her neck back. “Like Death.” _

_“You’re oddly morbid tonight.” Julian noted, not unkindly, his voice uncertain. Iris laughed once, airlessly. If he had planned this seduction, surely this wasn’t how he imagined it. _

_“I’ve been feeling oddly morbid for the last two months, Julian, since my coward lover left us all here to rot.” She stepped out of his grip now and leaned on the bannister of the balcony, feeling the spray on her face; she reached her hand out into the rain, and her skin was immediately soaked. Iris relished the warmth on her fingers. _

_Julian joined her at the bannister, his long fingers tented on the marble next to her hand. “I’ve been meaning to check in with you, Iris. How are you…?” His voice trailed off as Iris shook her head violently. _

_“No. I don’t...I...” She wrenched her hand away from his. “Seduce me or ask about Asra, but don’t do both.” A deep flush rose into his cheeks, his lips parted – suddenly, he grabbed both her wrists, his grip firm, startling Iris with his sudden touch. He pulled her with him into the rain, down the marble stairs to the garden. _

_They were drenched instantaneously, the water roaring in their ears. Iris had to be careful not to tumble down the slick steps in her treadless slippers, which she kicked off gracefully as soon as they touched the grass. She laughed, for the first time that evening, for the first time in a long time, at the feeling of her bare feet on the quenched earth, the sucking grass; the sound of her voice echoed against the rain, full-throated, true. She spun around a few times, twirling her skirt, now heavy and soaked through, then took off running after Julian as he sprinted to the reflecting pool, glancing back at her, his smile wide, raffish – his hair was plastered to his face, his suit absolutely ruined, but he was so handsome that Iris ached. _

_Clumsily, he leapt into the pool, which was only up to his knees. He too, laughed, turning back to Iris, who clambered in with him – at her height, several centimeters shorter than he, the water rose halfway up her thighs. He splashed her, uselessly – she was already soaked, but she shrieked anyway, and splashed him back. They toddled through the water like kids, splashing, kicking up arcs at each other, holding out their tongues to catch drops of rain. _

_At one point, Iris lost her balance and fell over, dunking her head – she came back up with a gasp, her long blonde hair haloed around her face. Julian leaned forward to help her up, but instead she pulled him down with her with a cackle. He sputtered, wiping his eyes as he sat up, and Iris pushed him over again with another peal of laughter; her hands raced to his sides to tickle him, making him squirm dramatically and protest. Just as she extended her hand to help him up, a bright light shone in their eyes, dazzling Iris. _

_“You’re out of bounds!” A guard bellowed, the magical light catching the raindrops and sending tiny reflections everywhere, like an undulating night sky. “Show yourselves!”_

_“Fuck you, asshole!” Iris screamed, gleefully, flipping her off with both hands. Julian’s arms wrapped around her and scooped her over his shoulders, fireman style, spiriting her away into the gardens. _

_He zigged and zagged through the foliage; Iris absolutely bellowing and shrieking with laughter now, kicking her feet maniacally, her arms wrapped around Julian’s strong, broad shoulders. So thick was the rain and so fast was he running that Iris couldn’t get her bearings until they slowed, Julian completely winded. They were clear on the other side of the palace, under a long-forgotten eave that just barely protected them from the rain. Julian gently lowered Iris against the stone wall, then leaned heavily on his elbow above her, regaining his breath._

_Iris was gasping, too – from adrenaline, from laughing, from desire, as she glanced up and surveyed Julian in earnest now, seeing as if for the first time the soft dotting of freckles on his cheeks and chin, the gray streaks of his irises, the delicate shape of his lips. He caught her staring, and his mouth curved into a smile – not a smirk or a grin, a genuine smile. _

_“It’s been a long time since I’ve heard you laugh like that.” He breathed heavily through parted lips._

_Iris laughed again, a chest-shaking, full-throated belly laugh. “That’s because I haven’t had this much fun in a long time.” She felt his hand on her cheek, and, she realized with a gasp, his knee between her thighs, teasing her legs apart under her skirt. _

_“I think the fun is just getting started.” He murmured, taking in the sight of her – sopping wet, mouth open, breasts heaving – with hungry eyes. Slowly, she placed her hands on his chest, her fingertips just touching the firmness of his chest; her eyes traced the deep v of his shirt, drinking in the sight of his skin, his form. With a rush of heat, she clutched at his shirt and pulled him towards her, their lips brushing, just stopping short of kissing, making Julian’s breath catch in his throat. Iris inhaled softly, then pressed her lips against his, fully, hotly. _

_His hand on her cheek pulled her closer, and, tentatively, his tongue touched the seam of her lips, a question. She opened her kiss greedily, and, with a low groan from the back of his throat, he swam his tongue into her mouth, exploring her teeth, tasting her warmth, feverishly. He leaned into her, making her press her back flush against the wall, and his fingers trailed down her neck to the seams of her bodice, where he traced the stays languidly before his hand fell onto the swell of her breast. _

_She crooned into his mouth – she could feel her wetness dripping down her legs, mingling with the rain, the fountainwater. She moved her hands from his shirt collar to his long neck, gripping gently against his cool skin as she explored his body for the first time. Clumsily, she attempted to remove his suit coat, which he shrugged off like a shed snakeskin, all while neither broke their passionate kiss. His other hand stroked her long hair, smoothing its wildness down and away from her face. She ran her fingers up into his auburn hair, too, and she reveled in its silkiness, its slickness from the rain._

_He cupped her breast now, gently, his pointer and middle fingers searching for her nipple; she arched her back slightly, pressing her chest more firmly into his hand. His fingers found their mark, and he traced the outline through the soaked fabric of her bodice before pinching gently. She moaned again into his mouth, and he pulled away just enough to breathe her name, to watch her react to his touch through heavy-lidded eyes. _

_She closed her eyes as he played with her body, rolling the hardening skin between his fingers – she didn’t notice that his other hand had floated down from her hair to her bodice, carefully unlacing her stays, until he pulled the strap down from her shoulder with the shirt underneath, baring her other breast. No sooner had she gasped at the night air against her skin that Julian lowered his head, his eyes flitting up to hers, slowly swirling his tongue over her exposed nipple. _

_Iris whimpered, and her hand in his hair gripped tightly, the fingernails raking roughly against his scalp. He grunted loudly, shocking Iris from her bliss. _

_“I’m sorry, are you okay?” She whispered, looking down to him – he was completely flushed now, and he exhaled heavily, almost a pant, against her skin. _

_“Ye...no, I – harder...” _

_Iris faltered. “What…?”_

_“The...my hair...pull harder...” He opened his eyes now and their gazes met; his pupils were blown wide, wild with pleasure. He lowered himself to his knees in front of her. “Please...” He whined._

_Heat rushed into her belly at the sight of him begging; she dug her fingers deeper into his rain-tangled hair and tugged hard, pushing his mouth back onto her chest. He moaned and lapped at her hungrily, flicking her nipple with each pass of his tongue while he ran his hands up and down her waist, groping, grabbing, tracing. She bit her lip while she watched him – after a minute or so, he released her breast with a final, languid lick, lifting his head to meet her eyes. He blushed even darker._

_“What would please you, Iris? Whatever it is...” He could barely get the words out, he was so breathless. “I’ll do it.” _

_Iris paused, her mouth open, unsure. When she found her voice, it was soft, shaky. “Taste me.” She whispered, pulling his hair upwards this time, exposing his elegant neck. _

_Julian groaned quietly with delight, the smallest smirk twisting across his lips. “With pleasure.” He pushed her long skirt up her thighs, the wet slithering of the soft fabric under his fingertips making Iris shudder. She was bare in front of him now, dewy all over from rain and desire, and he was drinking up the sight of her. He leaned in slowly, as if she were a soft animal he didn’t want to startle. _

_“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered, kissing the frontmost curve of her fold and breathing in deeply. He reached one hand between her thighs and traced her slickness with two fingers, before finding purchase in the soft flesh of the back of her legs. He guided her leg over his shoulder; now his face was practically on her mons, and with one last look up at her, he gently parted her labia with the tip of his tongue, eliciting a slow shiver from her._

_Iris’s hand fell from his hair to his shoulders – her other joined as she kneaded his taut muscles, raking her fingernails hard over his skin. He groaned against her wetness, blushing again – he began his task in earnest, carefully, experimentally, running his tongue over the pearl of her clitoris. She shifted her weight, ever so slightly, and rolled her hips forward to help him find the angle. It took a few moments, a few false starts, as he explored this new territory, but they were both patient. When he finally hit just the right angle, the pressure, the movement of his tongue, she rewarded him with a moan of his name and sharp squeeze on his shoulders, her fingernails digging into the skin._

_He responded in kind, moving his tongue more quickly against her, his hand on her thigh gripping tightly. The other trailed its way up her torso to her bare breast, finding her nipple again – this time, he thumbed and tweaked it, making Iris cry out. _

_She ground her hips against him, urging him to speed up. Soon, he was lapping at her just as he had sucked on her nipple, like he was starving, the motions of his lips and tongue frantic. Her breath began to catch in her chest, and she whimpered; suddenly, Julian pulled away, and his hand flew from her nipple, the fingers finding her wetness, tracing the velvety skin around her wildness. Through dripping lips, he asked, “Can I–” _

_“Yes!” Iris panted before he could even finish. Cautiously, slowly, he pressed one finger into her; Iris gasped a little at the pressure, the length. Then she melted, moaned, as Julian curled it slightly, exploring her, searching for her sweetest spot. He wrapped his lips around her again, this time sucking gently while he stroked her – after several gentle thrusts of his wrist, he slipped a second finger in, making Iris arch her back against the cool stone wall, and dig her fingernails so hard into Julian she worried she would cut him. _

_Julian was single-minded in his focus; he looked like there was nowhere he’d rather be than with his face buried in her mound, his fingers deep inside of her. He glanced up at her through his dark eyelashes, his gaze tender, reverent, almost disbelieving; she wondered how long he had imagined this moment. Her breath hitched in her chest again and she inhaled sharply, throwing her head back, breaking their gaze. With a whimper, she orgasmed; Julian trembled and loosed a small, satisfied groan, his tongue slowing as he guided her gently through the waves of pleasure that broke over her. _

_After she finished, Julian carefully removed his fingers, but rubbed them against her wetness, the thick slick that lingered there. There was a long pause as Iris enjoyed his touch, then she heard the clinking of metal on stone – it was his belt, falling away from his hips. _

_He stood and pressed himself against Iris, their lips meeting again. Their kiss was urgent now, sloppy, wet – Iris tasted herself on his lips, on his tongue, as his hands wrapped around both her thighs, pulling them wider around his hips, until…Iris looked down, and inhaled sharply. His erection, already sheathed in a barrier, was long and thick, longer than she expected; a tremulous moan rose up from her in anticipation. He smirked slightly at her reaction, but he also blushed, rather sweetly. _

_She was ready for him, but there was the matter of positioning – their height difference put the components at incompatible levels. There was some fumbling as they attempted to reposition, until finally Julian mumbled, “Here...um, let me...” _

_He grasped the underside of her thighs firmly and lifted her upwards, making her gasp. “Upsy daisy...” He murmured, pulling her closer to him and pressing her against the wall, his knee between her legs for his own stability, his hands gripping under the insides of her thighs, her legs spread wide. She wrapped her arms around his neck, felt his cock probing against her wetness. She blushed and grimaced, suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed. _

_Julian paused, alarmed. “Are you okay? Is this okay?” He asked, his cheeks reddening. _

_Iris wavered, then stammered, “Kiss me.” _

_Julian obliged, kissing her lips needfully, sucking on her bottom lip, massaging her tongue with his. She kissed him back – he was so considerate, so passionate, so eager to please – it comforted her. The heat rose in her again, and she whispered, “I’m ready, Julian.”_

_“Are you sure?” He murmured, not breaking their kiss; he had to be certain. Iris nodded. _

_He pulled away, meeting her eyes, his expression awash with naked lust, before pumping his hips into her, deliberately slow – he cleaved her lips apart and his tip pressed through her resistance, making her grunt softly. He stopped there and retreated before plunging back in, now a little further into her warmth. _

_For the first few minutes he moved painfully slow as Iris unfurled and lengthened around him. With each thrust he pushed a little deeper, until, finally, he was hilted; Iris could cry, she felt felt so gloriously full with him inside her. She dug her bare heels into the swells of his glutes, urging him on; with a strangled groan, he quickened his pace, his eyes fiery now with animal need. His thrusts came hard, deep, and steady, and Iris could only hold onto him and make noises as he rutted into her, writhing her hips against the flat of his pubis. _

_She whirled her tongue in his ear and crooned, “You feel so good inside me,” which earned her a choked, guttural grunt of delight. She ran her nails down his back, suddenly frustrated that he was still fully clothed – she clawed at his shirt, yanking it out of the waistband of his pants, until her hands found the sinuous muscles of his back, flexing and working as Julian pumped his hips into hers. She ran her hands softly up his cool skin before raking her fingernails slowly down from his neck to the swell just above his buttocks. He moaned quaveringly, met her eyes, they were sparking, seeing stars – she couldn’t help but grin at how much pleasure a little pain brought him. _

_After many minutes of this, he suddenly lifted her up again, making her grunt and grit her teeth at the change in positioning. Without breaking their embrace, he lowered her onto her back, the wet ground squelching against her soaked clothing. He spread her legs wide around his hips and towered over her, leaning heavily on one elbow and grasped her clothed breast with the other, pulling the fabric off her skin while the speed of his thrusts increased._

_“Is this...” He breathed, the question catching in his throat. _

_“Oh yes, Julian, please…” She moaned, raising her legs up and wrapping them around his waist, allowing him to go even deeper. The sound that came from him was both a hiss and a groan; his speed slowed just enough for him to plunge further into her. Something like electricity raced through her entire body, making her cry out and arch her back._

_“Oh, that, that’s it – Julian...just like that, don’t stop, please, please don’t stop...” Iris threw her head back as he brushed again and again against her g-spot, and clawed her way down his back again. He arched his back now against her touch, his face contorted in concentration. He was close, and holding it back like a child with his finger in the dike, so Iris could come again. He raked his teeth against her breasts, nipping softly at her teat, his hand roughly kneading the soft swell of flesh. _

_Iris unloosed one of her hands from his back and reached down between her legs, swirling her clit with two fingers. This was all she needed to push herself over the edge; she met Julian’s gaze boldly and let a deluge of his name – “Oh Julian, **Julian, JULIAN** –” fall from her lips while she came, seizing wildly around him._

_He threw his head back and opened his mouth wide, but no sounds came out, save for the soft whines that died in his throat as he felt the rush of heat, the surge of wetness, the clamping tightness of Iris’s full-body orgasm. He could take no more – with a series of grunts through gritted teeth, he came, too. _

_Now, they were still, Iris clinging to Julian as he fell limp on top of her. She stroked the back of his neck as his ragged breathing grew more and more steady, her own breath coming back to her in gentle pants. _

_He kissed her neck, tentatively, before breathing on her skin, “Oh, Iris… you don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.” _

_Iris’s heart fluttered, uncertain how to respond. How long had he watched from afar and kept his distance? Did he only make his move because…?_

_“Well...happy birthday, then.” Iris said, leaning her head into his lips on her skin. He barked laughing, the air from his lungs hot against Iris’s neck; the sound made her tremble with something like happiness. _

_He lifted his head, his face completely flushed, and kissed her lips, tenderly now, searching. Iris’s heart surged, and met him in the kiss, their tongues dancing, slowly, languidly._

_“Julian?” A shout cut through the rain from far away, followed by laughter and more shouts of Julian’s name. Iris recognized Nadia’s voice in the gloom, and the other apprentices – they were searching for the missing man of the hour. _

_“Oh no...we’ll be spotted.” Iris joked, smiling against Julian’s lips. “It’ll be the talk of the palace.” _

_“Let them talk.” He murmured between kisses, running his hands through her hair. “I’ve no intention of letting you go now.” _

Iris blinked, felt a chill drop down her spine; she was back in the hut, her breath spilling out of her in gasps, her heart pounding, her sex hot and swimming. A shaky sob escaped her mouth as her eyes welled. 

The memory she’d just witnessed, just regained – her and Julian’s first time making love. This was her box, these were her trinkets, imbued with her memories, her most precious memories. 

Heart pounded, tears spilling, she rifled through the box, her magic surging. Her fingers alighted on a piece of slinky ribbon, which sparked under her touch. She pulled it out of the box – it was long, maroon, worn, and felt burning hot. Iris sank back into herself, enveloped in what felt like liquid heat. 

_The bathwater was warm, fresh, scented softly with oranges and cinnamon, but Iris wrinkled her nose up in annoyance at the unfamiliar smell as she ran the washcloth over her arms. She started at the sight of them – they were positively spindly, bird-boned, the knobs of her elbows, wrists and knuckles protruding._

_Iris looked down – gone were her womanly breasts, replaced with tender buds, just starting to swell, the ribs underneath sticking out almost the same. She ran her hands over her legs – the swells of her hips now the sharp incline and hollow of bone; without the softness of flesh, her legs looked over-long and gangly. There was hair on her sex, but it was sparser, lighter, downier. She must be a teen, Iris realized, and a young one at that – one just approaching the threshold of womanhood. _

_She rose from the bath and crossed her quarters above her shop to the full-length mirror by the wardrobe. Her hair was short, but overgrown, shaggy at the nape of her neck, damp against her sweating temples. She was tall – nearly the height Iris was now – she must have just gone through a growth spurt, the curves of her body not yet caught up. A confusing feeling, one Iris could never recall feeling this intensely, spiraled up and dug its claws into her – disgust, self-loathing. _

_As Iris stood there, naked, she realized the room was different – messier, the personal affects different, a woman’s, more beauty items, clothing, materials for sewing, quilting, knitting, though just as many trinkets from travel. Everything of Asra’s was gone. No – he didn’t live here yet. Iris’s whole body ached. _

_The curtain flew open – a kind face peeked in, large eyes framed with round, rimless glasses, crows’ feet and laugh lines creasing on her sun-kissed skin. Her brown hair, streaked with gray at the temples, reached just past her chin in a straggly bob. “Iris! You’re done...oh, don’t just stand there, it’s cold!” Her aunt rushed across the room to grab the towel draped over the dressing chair, unfurling it to wrap around Iris, but the teen quickly yanked it away, covering herself, a blush rising from her cheeks. _

_“Iris...” her Aunt paused, faltered. “I saw you were looking at yourself. Your body is perfectly normal. When a girl goes through puberty, it’s nor –”_

_“Ew, Aunt Opal!” Iris interjected, her voice thorny with embarrassment, annoyance. “Can you give me some privacy, please?” _

_Opal smarted visibly, but nodded, leaving her be; Iris heard her soft footfalls on the stairwell. It must be mid-morning – she would be opening the shop soon. Iris crossed over to the bed, seeing the clothes laid out there for her. They were new, crafted carefully with Opal’s skilled stitchwork – Iris could still feel the starch of the fabric as she dressed. A white blouse with tiny buttons all in a row up the shirt’s meridian. A coral-colored, pleated midi skirt. A large, thick embroidered scarf in a light blue and orange pattern, which she tied around her narrow waist, the knot sitting jauntily over her right hip bone. _

_She tied a single maroon ribbon around her neck, looping it multiple times, before tying a tiny bow. There was a pair of sturdy brown leather boots placed at the foot of the bed; she shoved these on her feet begrudgingly, the January cold smarting against the soles of her bare feet. She thundered down the stairs. _

_There was a bowl of warmly spiced porridge waiting for her in the backroom, and a cup of coffee made with plenty of milk. “Iris, eat...” Her Aunt Opal called. “I’m opening the shop. When you’re done, I’d like you to help me. Then I thought we could close the shop at noon and watch the announcement together, maybe find a street vendor for lunch. There’s a lahmakun seller I know...” _

_Iris took a sip of the coffee while Opal continued her chatter – it was creamy, sweetened with honey, spiced with cardamom. It was good – it reminded her of home, of the coffee her mother used to make. Suddenly, tears sprung up in her eyes as she sank down into the chair. She couldn’t help but let out a sob. _

_Opal must have heard, because she flew into the room to see what was amiss. “Iris…?”_

_“Fuck off, Aunt Opal!” Iris shouted, angry now, furiously wiping her tears away, and the mug clattered ominously on the table, sending some of its contents splashing over the rim. Opal’s hands fell on her shoulders anyway, grasping tenderly. _

_“What’s wrong. Tell me.” It was gentle, but not a question. Iris’s lip quivered._

_“Why did you bring me here?” She snarled, meeting Opal’s eyes. “I didn’t want to leave Albyon.” _

_“Iris...” Her aunt lowered herself to her knees in front of the girl, her wild brows cinched, as she looked up at the teen’s face, contorted with tears, with anger. “You were sleeping on the streets, picking pockets to get by. You could have been killed, or worse. Your parents would have wanted you to be safe, with someone who loves you.” Opal’s eyes were misty now. “I love you, Iris. I’ve loved you since you were the size of a clove in Selene’s belly.” _

_Iris sneered, opened her mouth to retort, but there was a soft ringing of the bell as a customer walked into the shop. Opal squeezed Iris’s shoulders. “Eat. I’ll be right back.” She gave Iris a lingering look, sighed a little, and swept back into the shop. _

_“Oh, Tilde, lovely to see you! How’s your wife…?” _

_Iris glowered, her anger boiling, threatening to spill over. She glanced at the back door of the shop, less than a meter away. Silently, she slipped out of her chair and crept to the door, balancing all her weight gently on her toes. Iris expected her teenaged self to avoid the one creaky floorboard by the back door, but this Iris did not – the groan of old wood cut through the light conversation in the front room, and Iris’s body tensed. _

_“Iris?!” Opal’s voice, urgent now, rang through the shop. Iris flung the back door open with a crash and bolted. _

_She only had a moment before her aunt could wrest herself from behind the counter and sprint to the door – Iris needed to hide. **Now**._

_The narrow side street was crowded with people making their way, already, to the town square for the best view of the announcement. Iris considered just slipping into the crowd, but her eyes alighted on a fortune teller’s tent not far from her aunt’s back stoop. On sure legs, she scrambled down the steps and lifted the side of the tent, diving under it clumsily._

_The blood-red fabric that enshrouded the tent was fantastically embroidered with maroon, orange, and Byzantium arabesques. Otherwise, it was sparsely decorated – there was an intimate round table draped with several patterned tablecloths, scattered with a few totems, and lit from above with a gold lantern that held not fire, but an orb of soft reddish-orange light, casting a sunset glow on everything. A narrow back table held smoking incense in a cyan ceramic tray, a small cast-iron teapot and cups, and a massive chunk of pink salt, lit rosily from within. _

_Iris didn’t have much more time to sight-see; her aunt’s voice, raw and raised, rang out, shouting Iris’s name from the door. Then, Opal’s voice called another name, an unfamiliar one, the word musical, lilting._

_“Asra! Did you see a blonde girl anywhere? About this tall?”_

_A silken baritone responded, not far from her. “No, Opal, I’m sorry – I just got back from the bazaar. I can keep an eye out – what’s her name?” _

_“Iris – thank you, Asra! You precious thing.” She heard heavy footfalls as her aunt raced away. The back of Iris’s neck prickled with knowing, and she ducked under the fortune-telling table just in time – the curtain door parted as two figures stepped inside. _

_“I apologize for that interruption – please come in.” It was the silky voice, Asra – this must be his tent, Iris realized. _

_“Shame about Opal’s girl – it’s her niece. She’s an orphan, just arrived here a week ago from Albyon. Keeps running away.” This was an older woman’s voice, nasal, gossipy. Iris tucked her knees into her chest, trying to make herself as small as possible. If she was caught now, it was a short ear pinch back to her aunt’s shop. _

_“Poor thing.” Asra murmured, his voice low with compassion.“What happened to her parents?” There was a sound of wood scraping on stone as Asra pulled the chair behind Iris out from under the table. The wood groaned as the woman sat. _

_“Fire, I think she said. They couldn’t find the girl’s body, but they assumed she was dead. Turns out, she was living on the streets – Opal was contacted after the girl was arrested for theft. I imagine she’s fairly wild now, two years living off scraps with the other street urchins. I don’t envy Opal.” _

_“Hmm.” His reply was noncommittal, but Iris sensed an annoyance in the fortune-teller’s voice. He sat in the seat directly in front of Iris now, making her painfully aware of how small the table was. She blushed furiously as he scooted in; her face was practically between his knees. She could see he was svelte and shapely, the compact muscles of his thighs outlined against his soft trousers. There was no way she could crawl away without being noticed. She was stuck. _

_The fortune-teller began the reading: Tarot cards. Iris zoned out listening to his voice, soft, soothing, gentle, as he interpreted the cards for the old gossip, something about pentacles, a new venture, craftsmanship, an alliance. Suddenly, her head nodded, accidentally touching the inside of his knee with her forehead – he jerked it away with a fluid movement, his voice catching._

_Iris went rigid, with both apprehension and mortification; her face burnt hot as she blushed. _

_“Are you all right?” The woman asked Asra. _

_“Yes, sorry – beetle bite, I think.” He reached under the table; Iris could do nothing as a strong, amber hand approached her face, his two longest fingers brushing so gently against her cheekbone, flying away as soon as they touched skin. Iris thought her heart would explode, it was pounding so hard. _

_“Ooo, they are bad this year. Opal has a charm for that actually...” The woman chattered. The reading ended quickly after that – there was a quiet exchanging of pleasantries, and the jingle of some coin, before the flap closed. Iris screwed her eyes shut, and there was a soft rustling as the tablecloths lifted. _

_“...Are you Iris?”_

_ Iris fluttered her eyes open, blinking a little against even the low orange light after the darkness under the table. Her breath caught, dry, hot, in her throat. He was much younger than she imagined – not many years older than herself, truthfully, the softness of youth still clinging to his cheeks, but he was a man, his chest muscular, his arms strong. His jaw was chiseled, with a very small cleft in his chin, and his cheekbones were impossibly high. His hair was a riot of shock-white curls, but his eyes – they were a deep, smoky purple, especially so against his honeyed skin. _

_She swallowed. “And you must be Asra.” _

_A dimpled grin flashed across his face, practically dazzling poor Iris – he was even more stunning when smiling. He extended a hand to her, which she took hesitantly, their touch practically sparking. She had no name, no shape, for the feelings that were welling up inside of her. He helped her up, barely straining under her slight frame. _

_“What are you doing in my booth, Iris?” The question was not unkind. She saw movement in her periphery and wheeled around; the tea pot in the corner was pouring two cups of green tea, unbound by any earthside tether. She gasped, looking back at him with wide eyes. He wasn’t just a fortune-teller; he was a magician. _

_“Don’t be alarmed.” He cooed. He pulled the customer chair out for her, and gestured for her to sit. “I just want to chat.” _

_She sank into the chair – it looked spindly, but was surprisingly comfortable. Asra reached over her to the back table, the sudden invasion of her space making the heat rise in her cheeks; he gently placed the cup of tea in front of her and slid into the other chair, thumbing his own cup absentmindedly. _

_She stared into the mug – in the center of the cup was a lone flower, a tightly coiled jasmine bloom, now unfurling sweetly in the heat. Asra sipped his tea, patient, his eyes never leaving her. _

_Iris scrunched up her face, gently swirled the fragrant liquid in her cup. “I want to go home.” She said finally, quietly._

_Asra’s gaze was empathetic, his voice, compassionate. He understood what she meant. “It must be hard to be ripped from your home suddenly. Twice, no less.” _

_Iris lifted the cup to her lips now; it was earthy, but not bitter – it tasted as it smelled, delicate and green. She was uncertain how she felt about it, but she took another sip. “No one understands. They say I should be grateful.” _

_“Mm.” Asra set his cup down gently. “I think it’s hard for anyone who’s always had a safe place to call home to understand what home can become.” He met her gaze now. “It can be the streets you run, the meager possessions you cling to...the people who look out for you.” _

_Iris searched his handsome features over the rim of her teacup, looking for something to confirm the question that rose up in her. She had no word for this thing she did – she only knew she was never wrong. There – like a silent slip of lightning against the night sky, or a rivulet of cool water across baked earth: she saw what he was hiding, let the light flood her. His eyes flew open and snapped to hers, then darkened, unseeing, alarming her. Did he feel that, too…? _

_“You’re an orphan. You were homeless?” She asked quickly. He came back to her – he was blocked from her now; when she attempted to search in him again, she felt a nothingness that chilled her._

_“Yes...but you knew that, didn’t you?” He regarded her curiously now. “Are you a clairvoyant, Iris?”_

_Her heart jumped her throat. “What does that mean?” _

_His eyes made her feel a little weak, woozy, as they roved over her, his brow furrowing. “Your parents weren’t magicians, were they?” _

_Iris shook her head. “They were professors at the university of Albyon. My mother taught classical history, my father law.” _

_“But your Aunt Opal is a magician. Surely she…?” _

_Iris looked away pointedly. “My mother and my aunt...lived different lives. This is my first time meeting her.” _

_Asra took another sip from his cup, then retrieved his deck from the center of the table, shuffling it. He placed it in front of Iris. _

_“Humor me.” His eyes flitted up to hers. “Try reading these for me. After that, I’ll let you go...unless you want to stay.” His eyes glittered at this, and Iris had to look away, down at the cards. _

_“I’ve never done this.” _

_“Good. There’s nothing quite like your first time.” Iris blushed furiously, and Asra realized what he said; the color rose to his cheeks, too. He lifted his chin and smiled encouragingly, non-threateningly. _

_Iris picked up the deck, gently; she was shocked at how warm it was. She shuffled, perhaps longer than she needed to. She looked up at him. “What now?” _

_“Whatever feels right.” _

_She bit her lip, then flipped over three cards in front of her in quick succession. **Death. The Fool. The World.**_

_“Just listen now.” He said softly. “What are they saying to you?” _

_An annoyance swelled in Iris, but she quieted; it seemed to her that she was keeping her heart still, slowing her own heartbeat. Then, a voice – a woman’s, layered somehow, young and motherly and old, like a thousand voices, a million voices, but just one – whispered to her lovingly. _

_“My past is touched by Death, requiring me to shed the cocoon of childhood early. I had to transform to survive. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to weather the storm of change, let Death drag me down into the deep, to emerge from the surf with salt in my hair and my lungs, cleansed. And…and it will not be the last time. Death will continue to touch me and teach me, over and over, all my life.” The words fell from her mouth, unbidden, as if the place they came from bypassed her brain completely. _

_Another voice came to her now. It sounded exactly like her own. “There are infinite ways I could go now – the possibilities are endless. It’s almost overwhelming, seeing all of them laid out before me. The path I choose is up to me, but I have to be ready to transform again; nothing will happen if I stay frozen in place. I need to be open to that transformation. The adventure will be exciting, but I have keep my eyes open to everything the world has to offer.” _

_The last voice came to her from far away, stormy, mellisonant, sweet, like her own voice but amplified, a knowledge, an assuredness, etched deep into it, but it was a vision now that swept in front of Iris’s eyes. “There’s a long stone table, in a field, surrounded by these tall, tall trees, taller than I’ve ever seen – at each seat of the table, there’s a figure – an animal? Oh, they’re staring at me – their eyes are bright, like ink – they’re smiling…I’m naked in front of them, and I’m scared, but they’re holding out their arms to me – they’re welcoming...me?” Her brows furrowed, and she felt the beginnings of tears in her eyes._

_Iris was shocked out of her reverie by Asra’s hand over hers as she stared into the card. “That’s enough, Iris. Come back to me.” _

_Iris stilled, then put the card down, his hand still on hers. “I...I don’t know if any of that was right...I just...said what came to me.” She looked up at Asra – his lips were parted, his eyes sparkling with wonder as they darted over her face, disbelieving. _

_“Iris…” He began. They were interrupted by the blare of flugels, the pounding of timpani; the sound of crowds roared outside the tent. They had hardly noticed the throng outside gathering for the parade. _

_“The announcement...” He murmured, his eyes far away, looking at the tent door. His fingers brushed against his lips for a moment as he rested his chin in his palm in thought; Iris’s blood beat loudly in her ears as the pad of his finger pushed the middle swell of his upper lip up slightly, his even teeth peeking through. _

_“Let’s go together.” He said finally, standing up, his soulful eyes swimming to her. “If you’d like...” _

_Iris’s answer tumbled from her before she could think. “O...okay.” _

_The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. “Do you have a cloak? It’s chilly.”_

_Iris thought of the new cloak, a blistering cobalt blue, in the shop just meters from them. “Not with me...”_

_Asra handed her his, made of thick but very worn maroon velvet, and unwrapped the scarf he was wearing over his neck – Iris saw his tight shirt was cut very low, his collarbones slicing deep shadows across his chest, the firm valley between the swell of his toned pecs right at her eye level. What WAS this feeling that was rising hot in her, choking out her thoughts…?_

_He pulled on the edges of the scarf, a tasseled magenta thing – it lengthened, stretched like taffy, until it was three times its original size, thicker – this, he threw across his shoulders like a cloak, concealing the skin that Iris couldn’t take her eyes away from. “Are you ready?” He asked, his hand reaching for the flap of the tent. _

_She scurried to her feet and scrambled into the cloak, which was oddly heavy; it overwhelmed her with his smoky, cinnamon-y scent. Asra did not hide his amusement as he held the flap open for her, extinguishing the lantern with a flick of his wrist as they exited together. Against her neck, Iris felt a rush of heat, and turned back – the tent was gone now, and Asra was holding a small blood-red embroidered pouch in his hands, which he quickly stowed into his satchel. Seeing her surprise, he chuckled lightly, his eyes dancing. The dimples that appeared when he laughed, when he smiled – they left Iris weak-kneed._

_“Come on.” His hand found her shoulder, his touch chaste, brotherly, but it still sent a jolt of electricity up Iris’s spine. This is bad, Iris thought. I can’t control these feelings. And yet, she would be happy if his hand stayed there the rest of her life. _

_They picked their way carefully through the back streets, Asra careful not to let his hand slip from her shoulder, as if he was afraid of losing her in the throng. Iris didn’t mind – the longer they touched, the more her heart rate settled, calmed. It was actually nice to be with him; she felt tense in such a large crowd, the surge of bodies pressing against her, invading her personal space as they reached the square, but his presence soothed her somehow. _

_The townspeople were so densely packed that they could no longer walk two-wide; Asra’s hand slid from her and he looked over his shoulder, bidding her to follow him. Instinctually, she grabbed his hand, their palms cupped. They both blushed, Iris at her own boldness, Asra at the sudden touch, but he gripped her hand tightly. _

_Finally, they reached a point where they could press no further, but their vantage point was good; Asra had found a set of stairs up to a cheesemonger’s shop that wasn’t too crowded. He led her to the cracked clay railing and let her stand next to it, her view of the square and stage unobstructed; he stood behind her, so close she could feel his breath on her neck, his back boxing her in, protecting her from the pitch and swell of the people behind them. _

_Just in time – the flugels sounded again, a swelling, cacophonous fanfare, before a tall, middle-aged man in gaudy white finery mounted the stage, his blonde hair slicked back against his neck; Iris realized with a jolt that his arm looked as if it had been dipped in liquid gold. Iris quivered – his light eyes, fearsome and unkind, were slashed over with inky strokes of black. Next to him was a monk, also dressed in all white, a scroll and a white book in his hands. _

_An ornate carriage, also a gleaming white, rattled into the square, arriving at the wooden platform. The trumpets quieted, now swelling softly, as the sound of flutes floated sweetly above the roar of the crowd, which dulled almost instantaneously as the carriage door opened. _

_Out stepped a girl, not much older than Iris, statuesque and dazzlingly gorgeous, her flawless skin the color of mahogany wood. Her long violet hair was piled around her head in a complicated and regal updo, a tiara of garnets covering her forehead. She was wearing a dazzling white dress, practically see-through in the noonday sunlight. Iris realized what was going on just as Asra gripped her hand a little tighter and muttered into her ear. _

_“A wedding…?” _

_Iris turned to him; his beautiful features were contorted into a dark scowl, making Iris’s stomach twist with fear. “Who is that?” She whispered to him. _

_Asra lowered his voice, never taking his eyes from the stage. “Count Lucio. He rules the city, and the realm. He’s spoiled, corrupt, ruthless, and selfish.” This last word, the young magician practically spat out of his mouth as if it was tar. _

_She turned back to the scene; the girl was ascending the steps to the stage now. Suddenly, she looked back at the crowd over her shoulder, showing her face. Even from afar, Iris could see the deep wrinkle in her brow, the uncertainty in her trembling lips. Iris dipped into her without thinking, searching; the girl felt helpless, powerless, like she was marching up the steps to the gallows, rather than the altar._

_A magically magnified voice announced her arrival. “Nadia Satrinava, the seventh Princess of Prakra, Countess-to-be of Vesuvia.” Princess Nadia’s face contorted, searching for a way out as Lucio took her hand in his fearsome gold one, his gaze boring into her, practically eating her alive. _

_Iris gasped and gritted her teeth; she was overwhelmed, by the crowds, by the Princess Nadia’s intense emotions that were now swirling darkly, violently, in her now, by the strange man’s breath behind her and his strange scent and his strange gentle hand in her hand and the strange, sudden feelings she felt for him that she couldn’t name, couldn’t place, couldn’t control. She screamed at herself in her head – what was she thinking?! She would have never followed a complete stranger around the city in Albyon, at least not without a knife and the intention of cleaning out his pockets. _

_She shouldered roughly past Asra, eliciting a shocked grunt from him, and slipped easily into the sea of bodies – she was only slightly aware of his silky-cool voice, alarmed now, rising above the crowd, calling her name. She didn’t care: she needed a place, a quiet place, to come down from her rising panic. _

_She wove and wove and wove her slim body through the crowd, running, ducking under arms, dodging elbows and knees, desperately searching, her breath searing hot in her throat. She finally turned down a quiet, empty alley behind a smoked eel restaurant, the stale air imbued with the smell of cedar and hickory. She crouched low, her back to the baked brick wall, and she wound her hands behind the nape of her neck, her breath coming to her in jagged bursts, not enough, not enough, her eyes swimming with tears, her palms impossibly hot, swelteringly hot– _

_A soft but scaly touch on her wrist made her jump – a lavender snake was unwinding itself from the hood Asra’s cloak, tongue flicking at her hands curiously, before nuzzling Iris comfortingly, wrapping itself around her shoulders like a gentle hug. Iris felt her heart rate slow, and she held out a finger tentatively to the morph’s muzzle. This was no ordinary snake, she knew suddenly. She stroked the back of its head and it practically purred. _

_“There you are–” Asra gasped, rushing down the alley, breathless. “You ran off so quickly. We could have left...” He slowed, his eyes falling on Faust. A smile played across his face as he knelt next to Iris, giving her space, but close enough that he could reach to pet his familiar. _

_“I see you’ve met Faust. Did she take good care of you?” _

_Iris drew a shaky breath. “She did.” She met his eyes, briefly, then darted hers away, embarrassed. Her breath was still coming to her in ragged pants – she didn’t want him to see her like this. His soulful eyes were practically steeped in worry as they watched her struggle with her breath. _

_His voice was calm and quiet when he spoke next. “What is your favorite earthside place? Describe it to me.” _

_Her answer came to her instantly. She drew another shaky breath and closed her eyes to visualize it. “Outside of Albyon, there are these hills, these cliffs. They’re so gorgeous it hurts, tall and majestic and gray, with these ancient stairs carved into them so you can get down to the beaches below, but the water’s always too cold to swim. The hills are covered in tall grass most of the time, and then you can smell the sea, but my absolute favorite time is right around my birthday, when the whole hill is covered with huge whitewinter lilies. It’s my absolute favorite smell in the world...when my parents died, I...I put their altars there. I’ve returned every year on my birthday to pay my respects, but this...this year...” Her voice broke, and two big tears rolled down her cheeks, but a warm hand touched her shoulder. _

_Her nostrils filled with a scent that nearly tore her asunder, and she wrenched her eyes open. She was surrounded by lilies, the pale sun on her back – it was much chillier here, and over the edge of the rocky cliffs, she could see the weak gray sea, the frosty blue sky. She stood, turned, hardly believing; Asra’s hand found hers, gentle, their fingers intertwining innocently. _

_“We can’t stay long.” He murmured. “Where are your parent’s altars?” _

_She turned to him, lips trembling; she lead him to the cliff’s edge, where they found two tiny cairns, stacked with scorched, ashy stones. In front of each was a candle, a cup, a plate, an empty incense holder, and a small gemstone – a smooth moonstone in front of one, and a riotous orange carnelian in front of the other. _

_Iris sank to her knees in front of them, tears spilling out of her now. “Mum...dad...I didn’t come prepared, I’m sorry… but I wanted to see you. I turned 15 today.” Her voice cracked. “Rwy'n colli cymaint arnoch chi….” She heard the leather of Asra’s boots creak as he turned away to give her some privacy. _

_She prayed to them, telling them about Opal, about Vesuvia, about the strange wedding she just witnessed, about her friends in Albyon that she missed. She even told them about Asra. She wished them peace in the other realm, just as she felt Asra’s warm hand on her shoulder again. _

_“It’s beautiful here, Iris. I can’t think of a lovelier place for the final sleep.” He said softly. She rose, wiping her tears away, before turning to him. Slowly, uncertainly, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders – when he didn’t resist, she squeezed him closer into the hug. _

_“Thank you.” She whispered. She felt Faust slither out of his cloak and embrace her, as his hand found her back, rubbing gently, comfortingly. _

_“Of course. Happy Birthday, Iris.” They stayed that way a moment, until Asra spoke again. “Are you ready…?” _

_“Yes.” She said, pulling away. There was a rush and a pressure, cold, airless, and they landed gracefully on the back streets of Vesuvia. _

_“Let’s get you home.” He said with a smile, his hand still on her back. She nodded. _

The squealing grind of old, rusty hinges shocked Iris out of the memory. A ferocious silhouette, soaking wet and shrouded in furs, stood in the doorway, a flash of lightning and a roar of thunder pealing behind them. The hermit had returned home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ MOC: ol when I said Muri sighting I literally meant a Muriel sighting, didn’t I? Don’t worry, y'all'll get a lil more of him in the next chapter. _
> 
> _See you in Hermit, part 2. _


	8. The Hermit, Part 2: All That's Left Is All I Hide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Sara Bareilles - Floorplan (Tegan and Sara cover) **
> 
> _ CW: Mentions of violence and abuse, bondage _

Iris had known, logically, that the Scourge would be an enormous and secretive man, but as she sat there in his home, half-dressed, his trunk open in front of her, rifling through the box of her trinkets, she truly believed that she’d made her final mistake. 

His deep-set eyes were wild and livid as he stepped over the threshold, his skin dusky and reddening. He looked even larger in the flesh than in the memories Iris had seen, his shoulders barely fitting through the door, his chest swollen and powerful from hard labor. His hair was no longer down to his waist, but it still obscured his features, hanging lankly around his chin; it looked as if he had chopped it himself with a blunt knife.

He wore no shirt, despite the winter chill, only a rough leather cloak wrapped around his shoulders, and the bearskin on top of that – Iris could see the muscles, almost grotesquely defined, of his trunk and forearms, where the cloak and his canvas trousers did not meet. He was shod in modest leather boots that looked as if he had hewn them himself. 

Every muscle in Iris’s body tensed now – she was ready to bolt, to fight, to plunge her athame in his neck if it came to it. Her eyes darted to her satchel, just out of arm’s reach behind her. To her surprise, the Scourge’s eyes widened as his gaze swept over her face; he froze, stammered, “Wh-what are _you_ doing here?” 

Iris paused, a brow raising slowly. This man had severed the heads of a thousand people, yet he looked terrified of her, her sudden appearance in his home upending him. She carefully placed the box down on the floor and stood. “Do you know who I am?” She asked quietly. 

His eyes darted away from her, wouldn’t meet her gaze. He nodded slowly. 

“Say my name.” Iris demanded quietly, surprised, once again, at the boldness that boiled over in her. 

He flinched visibly. “...Iris. Iris Selene Keshet.” He said, after a long pause. 

Iris blinked, her head struck through with soft pain, soft pain that ebbed away almost immediately. “Selene?” She whispered, her voice low as she turned the unfamiliar name over. “How… how do you know me?” She tried to keep her gaze even, her voice calm; it was as if she was trying not to startle a bear that crossed her path in the woods.

The man’s answer was only one word. “Asra.” 

Iris shook her head softly now. “I’m sorry that I don’t remember you. I’ve lost a lot of memories. Were we friends?” 

The man’s eyes flitted to Iris’s – she could shiver at how cold they were. “No.” 

Iris inhaled for seven counts, exhaled for seven counts. “I’m sorry to impose on you like this. I imagine you value your privacy. It’s pouring, and your door was open.” 

His nostrils flared. “Why are you out here?” 

“I’m looking for the Scourge. I have something of his. I believe that’s you?” 

His expression darkened completely now. “That’s not my name. You should go now.” 

Iris tensed, but then heard a soft whine as a sable snout peeked out from behind the man’s legs. It was she-wolf, completely black, yellow eyes glittering, her ears flattened against her head, a soft growl, a warning but not a threat, rumbling uncertainly through her ribs. In the large man’s arms, there was a stirring; the snout of another she-wolf poked out of a bundle of furs. Iris could see that her fur was matted and bloody. 

“What happened?” Iris breathed, her heart tightening as the injured she-wolf lifted her face out of the furs – her eyes were a vivid green, her nose black, but her fur was white, soft brown, and warm gray against the vicious mottling of blood splattered across her face. Her gaze fell on Iris, and the magician felt shaken to her core. The wolf seemed to be staring straight into her soul. 

The man watched Iris warily, his eyes darting from the wolf to her, then back to the wolf. “I found her. She was attacked.” He looked away now, almost as if embarrassed. 

“What attacked her?” Iris asked, taking another quiet step towards them. 

“It was him.”His green eyes darted back to her, suddenly fierce, dark. “You’ve seen him, too. At the palace. The runes told me.” 

Her eyes flew wide. “...Lucio?” 

He flinched at the name, but nodded once. “I think...she saw him and attacked.” 

Iris hummed in thought; if Lucio had enough form to hold her down, he’d have enough form to attack a wolf. She took another step closer to the man. They were only a meter apart now. “Let me see.” 

He sighed, then laid the wolf down gently in front of the fire, not looking Iris in the eye. He retreated back towards the door, and the other wolf curled herself around his legs, watching her wounded wolfkin worriedly. 

Iris steadied herself, then dropped down next to the wolf in front of her; the she-wolf’s gaze had been trained on Iris this whole time. As Iris looked into the wolf’s bright green eyes again, she felt stripped, exposed...but it was so soothing, so comfortable, like being nude in front of Asra, or Julian. Her soul was laid naked in front of this creature, and the creature saw her, accepted her as she was. Iris’s breath hitched in her throat, and her heart ached.

Hesitantly, Iris reached her hand out to let the wolf sniff, but instead, she nosed her wet muzzle against her fingers, pushing her face against Iris as if she wanted to be pet. Iris obliged, petting her head and muzzle softly, careful to avoid the wounds. She had no words to describe the feeling that welled up in her now; it was completely natural to be petting this wolf, as if she had known it all her life, as if she was a piece missing from Iris forever. 

Iris jumped as another soft snout pressed against her arm; she looked down, and saw Faust, her tongue flickering as she looked encouragingly up at Iris. 

_Yours…_

Iris breathed in shakily, then let her hands hover over the wolf’s snout, soft golden light emanating from her fingers as her magic flowed through the skin, sewing the wounds back together and rinsing away the blood. It was not a terribly deep wound, but because it was on the face, it was painful and bloody. Iris made quick but thorough work of it, giving the wolf a couple of soothing pets when she was done. The wolf looked at her imploringly, then laid down with her snout across Iris’s thigh. 

_Thank you…_

At the sound of her familiar’s voice, husky, low, and sweet, tears sprung into Iris’s eyes. The wolf’s name came to her with a rush of intuition. “You’re welcome, Vasalisa.” She said quietly, stroking her soft, muscled body, her fur warming now against the fire behind them. The wolf let out a friendly growl of satisfaction.

Iris looked up now at the man, who was looking at her slack-jawed as she stroked the wild animal on her lap. “Were you ever the Scourge? If not, I’ll be on my way as soon as this rain lets up. If you are…I’d like to ask you some questions.” 

His eyes darkened. “I don’t do that anymore.” 

Iris smiled, patient, warm. “I’m glad for that. I can’t imagine what it must have been like.” Her eyes softened. “What should I call you instead?” 

He reddened, embarrassed. “...Muriel.” 

Iris realized he was still practically standing in the doorway of his own home with his cloak on. “Are you...are you going to take off your cloak?” 

He blushed again; reluctantly, he shrugged the leather cloak off his shoulders. Iris gasped; around his neck was the horrifying spiked collar he had worn in the arena. His arms were still manacled, and heavy chains hung from all three. 

“Arcana help us.” Iris whispered. She reached back into her satchel, her fingers searching for the secret compartment where she had stored Lucio’s trophies. She found the strange spider key, her palm wrapping around it. “You can’t get those off, can you?” 

Muriel’s flush intensified; he was ashamed, almost angry. “No….” 

“And Asra can’t get them off with magic either, can he?” Iris stood, and took a gentle step forward. Beside her, Vasalisa rose and stepped forward also, her snout huffing with each deep sniff. The other wolf leaned in to smell her in earnest now; the two circled each other. 

Muriel looked as if he wanted to bolt out of his own home. Iris unwrapped her fingers from her palm, gently showing him the key. The wolves were grooming each other now at their feet. 

Muriel’s breath caught in his throat; his brows were furrowed, confused. 

“Do you...do you want them off? I think this will work on them.” Iris bit her lip. She knew this was her leverage for her information, but how could she leave him, leave anyone, like this?

Muriel nodded once, his eyes closed; he looked deeply mortified. Iris crossed the room slowly, and indicated that he should turn around; he did as he was bid, though Iris immediately realized he was too tall for her to see his neck – he was nearly half a meter taller than her. 

“Can you...could you sit? I’m sorry. I can’t reach.” Iris said quietly. He slowly sat at the stool in front of him, and Iris absentmindedly admired his handiwork; he was massive, but the spindly stool held his weight easily. 

He reached back and gently brushed his uneven hair off the nape of his neck; Iris was grateful for the gesture, glad she did not have to breach his physical boundaries any more than she already was. The lock, directly over the vertebrae of his neck, was a terrible thing, a devouring, voidlike black, 8 small locks in a circle around one round, thin groove in the center, the metal scratched furiously with wear. Iris realized, with horror, that Muriel had worn this stigma around his neck for nearly 6 years now. 

The key fairly sprang out of her hand as the ring sank itself into the groove; each shank bent in half, sticking their pins into the corresponding locks. Iris understood now why it was called a spider key – each spoke now looked like a jagged spider’s leg. There was a soft click as each shank turned, and the whole collar groaned as the mechanism sprung open; it fell heavily from Muriel’s neck into his lap. Two snaps followed, and the manacles clanked to the ground. 

Both Iris and Muriel froze. The skin under his collar was pale and warped from lack of sun, and Iris had to wrench her gaze away – it was far too intimate for her prying eyes, she felt. She could see Muriel’s massive hands were shaking; he turned his wrists over, staring in disbelief at their nudity, before reaching up and touching his collarbone, the skin of his own neck. 

Their stunned silence was interrupted as the door was flung open once again; this time, two figures burst through, bringing with them the spray of the deluge outside. It was Asra: behind him, Julian. 

Iris’s lips trembled; she swung her gaze to Asra, grateful, angry, confused, before flinging hers arms around Julian’s shoulders, kissing him hard while she cried. 

Julian tensed in surprise, resisting for just one moment, before he wrapped his hands around her waist and kissed her back, rain-damp skin slipping against her warmth. They lingered for a moment, before Iris pulled back and thumped his chest hard with the flat of her palm. 

“If you try to break up with me again with a _note_, motherfucker, I’ll hex your actual dick off.” She practically shouted at him through her tears. Julian blushed, looking sheepish, but a small smile curved across his face. 

“As opposed to...my metaphorical dick?” He wiped her tears off of one cheek with one gloved hand, his voice teasing but gentle.

Iris snorted. “I’ll hex that off, too.” She turned to Asra now, ready to embrace him also, but he was stooped over Muriel, his hand on his friend’s shoulder, his wide eyes trained to the bare skin of his neck. 

He turned back to Iris, his expression painted with shock. “How did you…?” 

“It was locked with a spider key. I found the key.” Iris explained breathlessly. “It was in Lucio’s chambers.” She realized, suddenly exhausted, how long the day had been. Vasalisa nuzzled against her leg, her warmth comforting, arching her body against Iris almost like a cat. 

Asra glanced down at the wolf, his brows furrowed, his nostrils flaring once; he held his hand out to her, and she licked it a few times before letting him rub her around the ears, her soft voice sounding in Iris’s ears. _Lover…_

Asra turned his gaze to Iris again, his eyes sparkling. “You never cease to amaze me, Iris.” He wrapped one arm around her shoulders, pulling her close, kissing her forehead softly. 

A choked noise rose from Muriel now, as he stood; Iris was sure he suddenly felt very naked in front of a room of strangers, and blushed a little in empathy. The small home was crowded, with four human bodies, two wolf ones, and Faust.

“Why...why are you here?” He said quietly to Asra. 

“I followed Faust – we were looking for Iris. The real question is...Iris, why are you here?” He turned his curious gaze to her as Faust wound herself around his shoulders, her tongue flickering contentedly.

Iris stammered. “My...my intuition led me to Muriel. I saw a memory of...of Lucio’s in his bedroom. When I first touched the spider key. Then...” 

She remembered the tether, straightening slightly; she reached up to her cloak that was drying above them and grabbed the hairbrush. “...Nadia, Portia, and I tracked this down at the Red Market.” She handed the hairbrush to Muriel. “It’s yours.” 

Muriel took one look at it and threw it into the fire with a flick of his wrist, a scowl twisting on his face. “If you have questions, ask them now.” He said brusquely to her. 

Iris blinked, startled at the violence of his gesture, the gruffness of his voice. “Do you know anything about the night Lucio was murdered?” Iris began. In her periphery, she saw Julian tense. He was on the floor with Vasalisa; having let her sniff him and cuddle him, he was now spoiling her with belly rubs, cooing at her in a low, soft voice. On her other side, Asra’s hand on her shoulder tightened. 

Muriel nodded once, his eyes downcast, his nose lifted into a slight sneer. 

“What do you know?” Iris asked.

Muriel’s eyes rose to Asra’s beside her...imploringly. She looked at Asra out of the corner of her eye; he nodded to Muriel encouragingly, smiling gently. Muriel closed his eyes again and sighed heavily, lowering his chin to his chest. Julian stood now, with a whine from Vasalisa, and hovered at Iris’s other side. 

“I was sent to find him.” He raised his chin to Julian. “He was locked up in the dungeons. I brought him to...the room. It was already on fire when we arrived. He ran in, and I left.” 

“I was in the dungeon...before the murder?” Julian muttered, incredulous, his eye narrowing. “What for?” 

Muriel shrugged, almost imperceptibly. “I don’t know. But I let you out.” 

Iris’s hand found Julian’s beside her, gripping his fingers tightly. “Julian...” She murmured. “If you were in locked up in the dungeons...you couldn’t have set the fire. You wouldn’t’ve even been near it when it happened.” 

“...I’m innocent.” He whispered, his eye widening. He looked down at his free hand, his left, turning it over in the firelight; Iris knew he was seeing the brand on his pale skin in his mind’s eye. Suddenly, he seemed to freeze, his eyes darting furiously to and fro, as if he were dreaming; Iris’s heart fluttered nervously, but Asra rubbed her shoulder, pressing his lips into her temple soothingly as he watched Julian over her head. With a flush of intuition, Iris realized he was regaining a memory. 

Julian came back to them with a gasp, his wide eye flying wildly to Iris’s face, then Asra’s, then back to Iris’s. “I remember...” He said, his voice stricken. “I was in the dungeon working on a cure. I wasn’t making progress, so Lucio...he locked me up so I wouldn’t get distracted. He was close...close to succumbing to the plague. And...”

Julian’s hand left Iris’s; he traced the eyepatch over his eye before wrenching it off dramatically and letting it flutter to the floor. Iris heard Asra gasp in her ear, and her heart clenched; the eye underneath the patch was intact, working, the pupil contracting, then dilating in the low light as his gaze roved over her features, but the sclera was the telltale crimson of plague victims, practically glowing in the low light of the fire. 

“I was...dying.” He continued. “I’d contracted the plague. But...my cure. It worked. It worked. I’m alive. I’m here.” He raked his branded hand through his auburn hair in thought. Suddenly he grabbed Iris’s shoulders, his eyes wild. “It could still be there, in that dungeon. The cure to the plague...my cure…” 

Iris gently grasped his forearms, rubbing with her thumbs. “And your answers.” Iris’s heart was soaring at the sight of him; he looked, for the first time, hopeful, full of wonder, triumphant, even. His hands flew from Iris’s shoulders to her cheeks and pulled her in for another deep kiss.

“You astonishing woman.” He murmured against her lips, for her ears only.

When they pulled away, Asra spoke gently. “It seems we have a reason to celebrate.” Iris turned to him; his eyes were twinkling, a small smile pulling his lips apart, as he regarded the two of them. “Your innocence, Ilya, and your freedom.” 

Muriel grunted behind the three of them – Iris startled, having almost forgotten that he was there. “Can you...celebrate elsewhere?” 

Asra chuckled. “Come on, Muriel, you have something to celebrate, too...and I believe you have a cask of mead you’ve been saving for the occasion?” His eyes were teasing, his brows raised. “You can’t drink it all by yourself.”

Muriel blushed furiously, his lips screwed up in a pout, he huffed, “Fine.” 

“By the Gods, could I use a drink.” Iris crooned; she realized, with a rush, how exhausted she was. Besides her, Julian let out a barking laugh. 

“Hear, hear, Iris.” He smirked, his eyes wicked. 

Asra laughed fully, loudly. “You finally shook your hangover, and now you want to drink again?” He was shuffling through the dry goods on Muriel’s shelves, settling on the green lentils – he dumped some into the pot on the hearth, magicking water from the basin in with some salt and seasoning herbs. He turned to Muriel. “Can you grab some things from the larder? Tomatoes, an onion, carrots, greens if you have them...” Without a word, Muriel rose and left. 

Iris sank into the unoccupied stool with a tired sigh, her stomach rumbling. Sweet Vasalisa placed her head on Iris’s lap, and Iris ruffled her ears. Julian sat near her on the chest at the foot of the bed, now examining the room in earnest; his eyes (both of them now, Iris could hardly wrap her mind around it) fell on the lacquered box at his feet. He reached down to pick it up, examining it. 

Iris jolted – she had completely forgotten about the box. Asra’s eyes fell on it too, and the color drained from his cheeks as his eyes darted to Iris and then back to the box. 

Julian peered inside, then closed the lid of the box without perusing the contents, sensing what it contained was not meant for his eyes. “Someone’s sentimental.” He muttered.

“It’s not his.” Iris said, outstretching her hand; obediently, Julian handed her the box, his brows arching quizzically. Iris traced her fingers over the scene on its front, before looking up to Asra. “Asra, what is this? Why is this here?” She met his eyes, her gaze firm and imploring. 

The color rose in the magician’s cheeks now, turning his honey-colored skin ruddy. “How did you find that?” Faust was intertwined around his neck and shoulders now, tongue flickering happily.

“It called to me.” Iris said quietly.

“Did you...did you remember anything?” Asra bit his lip. “Is your head okay?” In her periphery, Iris saw Julian’s eyes widen, putting two and two together. 

Iris pressed her lips together to keep the tears whispering behind her eyes from falling. “I did. I’m fine. Asra...” Her voice cracked. “You kept it all this time?” 

Asra nodded, slowly, his violet eyes unblinking. “I knew Muriel would keep it safe. I couldn’t keep it at the shop – you’d find it, eventually. You _did_ find it. I was...” His voice wavered a little. “I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to return it you.” 

Iris laughed, tears dancing in her eyes now. “Asra, I saw...the first time we met...the field of lilies...”

Asra trembled visibly; he sunk to his knees in front of Iris and pulled her into his embrace, his lips against her ear. Faust wove herself around both of their shoulders, and in Iris’s lap, Vasalisa rubbed her muzzle against Asra’s stomach. “I cherish that memory...” He whispered, his voice breaking, his hands shaking. “…that I can share it with you now...it doesn’t seem real...” 

Iris buried her face in Asra’s neck, unable to keep her happy tears from falling now (how many times had she cried that day?); besides them, she heard Julian stand and cross the room to give them some semblance of privacy. The door opened suddenly, loudly, and out of her periphery, she saw Julian wheel around. 

The noise that rose from Julian was something like a snarl, making both Iris and Asra snap to attention. Julian reached into his shirt and drew a long knife with a flourish, brandishing it with his teeth bared at Muriel, who merely looked annoyed; his arms were laden with vegetables and packages, a small cask slung under his meaty arm. 

“Julian, what the hell?” Iris said, standing; Asra’s hands tightened on her back. 

“Stay back, Iris!” Julian yelled, ready to lunge; thinking quickly, Iris disarmed him with her magic, sending the knife skittering across the dusty floor. Muriel’s watchful eyes traced its arc, almost disinterestedly. 

“Julian, you were literally just talking to Muriel! You don’t remember him?” Iris said sharply as she stood, quickly crossing the room and grabbing Julian’s arms, rubbing her thumbs against the insides of his wrists, calming him.

“Who’s Muriel, this brute? I think would remember such a, erm...a big fellow.” Julian’s sneer was dissolving, replaced with a wrinkled brow of confusion. 

“You wouldn’t.” Muriel said quietly, setting the things in his arms down on the small table. Iris turned to him, his bare back to her, and saw a bright white mark glowing right where his ribs cinched into his waist, a mark just like Nadia’s, just like Julian’s. “People...forget me.” 

Julian’s eyes widened, as Iris’s brow knit with confusion. “How did you get that mark?” She asked quietly. 

“I asked for this.” Muriel turned to her, his expression tired, pained. “I helped a friend, and I was rewarded.” 

Iris’s breath hitched. “For the...” she swallowed back the lump in her throat. “For the coliseum?” 

Muriel turned a swarthy red, his eyes darting to Asra, whose hand fell gently on his friend’s elbow. “I think...that’s enough for tonight, Iris.” 

Iris opened her mouth to respond, defiance rising in her throat, but as her eyes traced the silhouette their bodies struck together, Asra’s gentle hand against the bare skin, Muriel nearly shaking, she exhaled slowly. 

“If it’s what you wanted...then it’s a blessing, isn’t it?” She smiled gently, even though her heart broke him. 

He said nothing, instead uncorking the cask in front of him, pouring its contents into the rough clay cups Asra had set out; the liquid was the color of the night sky, so deeply purple it appeared black. Iris could smell effervescent blackcurrant and elderflower. He held the cup to Iris, his eyes averted. 

She took it, gratefully, taking a healthy sip. It was delicious, even lighter and more balanced than the black mead she had drank earlier that day. “This is lovely...thank you for sharing it with us, Muriel.” She raised the vessel a little, smiling, as Muriel begrudgingly handed a cup to Julian; his eyes darted to her, and softened ever so slightly. Iris took this as a victory. 

Asra was using his magic to chop the vegetables now; Muriel had brought the summoned carrots and onions, but also procured celery, cabbage, and green leafy chard. A large jar of preserved tomatoes, along with a package wrapped in canvas, sealed with a skillfully drawn suspension rune, sat in the firelight. Iris opened the canvas package – it was spicy sausage, perfectly preserved, still cold, even. She opened the can of tomatoes, the sweet smell of summer sun wafting up to her nostrils, and she dumped both the sausage and the tomatoes into the pot as the vegetables flew in.

“Muriel, did you grow all of this?” Iris asked. Muriel blushed slightly; it was Asra who spoke. 

“Muriel makes everything on his own out here. He grew the vegetables, preserved the tomatoes. He even brewed the mead you’re drinking.” Asra’s eyes twinkled with something like pride, a buttery smile spreading across his features. 

Iris turned to Muriel, who was looking away with mortification. “That’s impressive.” 

“And the mead is first-class.” Julian added, taking another drink. He was still reeling a little from forgetting Muriel; his eyes were dancing across the large man’s features, as if he were trying to memorize them, futilely resisting the mark’s work. Iris’s brow knit together. 

“Why did I remember Muriel?” Iris asked quietly, turning to Asra, who was stirring the pot of soup over the fire with one hand, drinking his mead in the other. The scent of the soup was filling the hut now, making Iris’s stomach clench; she was ravenous. 

“That’s a good question.” Asra bit his lip softly in thought, turning to Muriel. “Did you give her a charm?” 

Muriel shook his head, but Iris pursed her lips together in thought. “What’s the charm?” 

Asra took a small leather pouch on a lanyard out of the folds of his linen shirt; Iris recognized it, having helped him remove it many times when they were undressing. It made Iris’s heart ache that Asra had to carry around this charm to be able to remember his friend. He held it out to her, and she examined it carefully – it was filled with myrrh and sage, smelling familiar…

“I have one of these.” She said softly. “In my satchel.” She turned her gaze to Muriel. “You must have been the one who left it on the stoop of my shop.” 

Muriel, his brows furrowed, nodded. “It was to protect you and the shop. Asra...asked me to watch out for you. You weren’t...supposed to keep it.” 

“Oops.” Iris’s eyebrow lifted coyly as she took another sip of mead. Muriel blushed. 

Julian had gotten up, cup of mead in hand, and was examining the back wall of the hut – Iris hadn’t even noticed it before, but a stringed instrument was hung there between two pegs. Julian touched its wooden body gently, reverently, with two fingers before turning to Muriel. 

“Is this a calace?” He asked softly. Muriel nodded slowly. He had barely taken a single drink of his mead, spinning the cup absentmindedly in his hand. 

“May I?” Julian asked gently, not waiting for an answer. He took the instrument down from the wall, gently strumming the doubled, metal strings; the sound was twangy and resonant, sweet and nostalgic. Iris sat on the chest, crossing her legs; Asra looked up from the hearth, a curious look crossing his features. 

A knowing smile beamed across Julian’s lips. He played a few chords, his fingers easily finding their purchases; Iris immediately recognized the song as an Alban ballad, the lyrics sweet and full of longing, of desire. Julian’s mismatched eyes caught Iris’s, his brows arching wickedly.

Iris took a deep breath, licked her lips, closed her eyes and let the lyrics loose from deep inside her; she couldn’t remember ever hearing this song, but she knew every word by heart.

“_We are swimming with no clothes on in a river in the dark...and I am holding onto you, oh, in the faint light of the stars..._”

Julian laughed loudly, and Iris wrenched open her eyes towards the sound; his eyes were trained on her, full of adoration, curiosity. Iris kept singing as he kept playing, their eyes never parting, joy swelling in her chest as they made simple music together. 

When the song ended, Asra clapped lightly, elbowing Muriel, who applauded reluctantly, though when Iris caught his eye, she could see a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. Julian handed the calace to Muriel, who blushed furiously and took it a little hesitantly, but he gently, deftly, plucked the complicated chords to a bar hymn, surprising Iris. She knew it well – it was a favorite at the Raven – and she couldn’t help but grin as she belted out the words. 

“_If I was young, I’d flee this town, I’d bury my dreams underground...And tonight, we drink to die, we drink to life…_” 

He was extremely skilled; it was clear he played often, that it brought him peace. It was delightful to listen to him, and Iris hardly noticed as Asra served her her dinner, even though she was starving. It was easy to sing along with Muriel’s playing, almost as natural as singing along with Julian’s. When the song ended, Julian was sitting behind her on the chest, his hand around her waist, a rakish smirk cut across his sharp features; Asra was on her other side, sitting on the bed, his cheek pressed gently against her shoulder. 

Muriel handed the calace back to Julian, who smirked devilishly, strumming the chords to a lilting tango. 

This was the cadence of their night, more mead and more song, no more talking; Julian and Muriel passed the calace back and forth, their agreement unspoken, while Iris sang along when she knew the tune with her stormy and dulcet voice, and Asra watched through lidded eyes, a satisfied smile stretched across his lips. 

It wasn’t long before Asra dropped into sleep on Iris’s shoulder; as the night progressed, she felt her own drowsiness weighing heavily on her shoulders, her eyes. She barely remembered crawling into the unbearably soft bed, her body curled against Asra’s, whom Muriel had wordlessly, gently, repositioned so he was laying properly. 

She barely heard as Muriel strummed the last song of the night, and a voice, one she had never heard before, low, husky, lilting, singing the words to a gentle folk song, so familiar, so sad: _“We bricked up the garden and know what it means, and we’ve all kissed a virgin as if she were clean, but I still have a prayer, despite all the colors I’ve seen...”_ She hardly registered when Julian climbed in on her other side, his lips pressed flush against her neck, as her dreams dragged her back.

She dreamt of running through the hedge maze again, the withering garden whipping past her, the sky a riot of fire; she dreamt of deserts, of raging oceans, spiraling around her like screams; she dreamt of broken mirrors, of closed doors, of open doors, of endless, endless white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _MOC: I had no connection to Muri before writing this chapter. But I get it. I really do. It's fun to make him blush. And I just want to protect him._
> 
> _And, a wild Vasalisa appears! Yay! _
> 
> _See you in Hermit 3. _


	9. The Hermit, Part 3: Long Shadows Lure You In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Imogen Heap - Canvas **
> 
> _ CW: No content warnings _

When Iris awoke, she was groggy, her vision fuzzy, her head pounding a little; it took her a moment to register where she was, in Muriel’s dugout that smelled of cedar and myrrh, laying in the extremely soft bed stuffed with down, covered in musty furs; on her right, Asra was sleeping, his cherubic face nuzzled against her breastbone, his breath hot against the fabric of her shirt, his hand on the fleshy rise of her hip. On her other side was Julian, his chest pressed against her back, his hand wrapped around her waist, the loose collar of his shirt pooling around the well-formed slope of his arms, the pale, freckled skin of his neck and shoulder exposed. 

The early morning sun swam through the slats of the rough cedar door; Muriel was nowhere to be seen, and both of the wolves dozing near the dying hearth, Faust coiled on the flat of Vasalisa’s back. Iris stretched, arching her back and pressing her ass a little into Julian as her vertebra popped, relieving the tension in her lower back. This tiny movement roused him, his eyelashes fluttering against her skin; drowsily, he kissed her neck, his tenor voice rising from his throat in a soft, sleepy grunt. 

“Good morning…” He murmured, his lips finding the silky, sacred space between her ear and her neck, dropping lingering kisses there.

On her other side, Asra stirred too, light sleeper that he was; he blinked his pretty eyes slowly before lifting his gaze to Iris. She bent down to kiss his lips, warm softness against warm softness in the early morning haze. Asra kissed her back, his hand grasping, kneading the softness that cloaked her. Julian smoothed his hand over her waist, his fingertips brushing against the underside of her breast, his kisses slipping lower and lower down her neck. 

The color rose to Iris’s cheeks; this was uncharted territory for her. Julian was cupping her breast now through her shirt, his breath growing a little shallower against her skin, making the hairs on the back of her neck raise in arousal; Asra had pulled away from their kiss and was now pressing his lips into her collarbone, his fingertips tracing up the slope of her hips to her waist and down again, before palming the swells of her thighs.

“Um...” She murmured, unsure how to navigate. Asra opened one eye, an impish smirk whispering across his sleepy features as he looked up at Iris. “Should we...should we not do this in Muriel’s bed?” 

Asra’s smirk stretched into a wicked grin. “It wouldn’t be the first time you and I have...” 

Iris blushed furiously, her voice rising in shock. “Asra!”

His tawny lips were dangerously low on her chest now, tracing the place where the softness of her breasts began to pillow up. “I’m not sure why you’re so scandalized. It was your idea...” His hands floated up to the hem of her shirt, lifting slowly, revealing the tender skin of her belly. “You can be very persuasive...” 

Julian chuckled lightly behind her, his breath hot on her neck. “And insatiable...” His fingertips floated down Iris’s body to the newly revealed skin; Iris noticed that Julian and Asra’s hands brushed as they moved over her body, but they didn’t jerk away from each other, but rather...lingered, even if just for a moment, before finding their marks. 

She turned her head towards Julian’s as he traced the waistband of her leggings, and he bent his neck down to press his parted lips into hers; his kiss was hotter than Asra’s, his tongue slipping into her mouth and between her teeth as he slipped his fingers into her leggings, his palm rubbing against the sweet skin of her lower belly. 

Asra had lifted Iris’s shirt to her armpits, her breasts now exposed, her nipples hard against the brisk morning air; the magician spiraled his tongue around one soft swell, moving slowly, so slowly, towards the tightening skin in the center. Julian’s hand snaked lower down her body, his fingertips now brushing against the velvety plush of her labia.

Iris arched, and grunted softly, “Wait…” pulling away from Julian’s kiss, squirming away from Asra’s tongue. 

Immediately, Julian stopped his descent and pulled his hand away, his brow knit with worry; Asra lifted his head, his eyes alight. “Do you want us to stop?” He murmured.

Iris bit her lip; she would be lying if she said she wasn’t enjoying it, but it felt…

“Are you both okay with this?” She asked, turning to meet Julian’s gaze, then Asra’s. 

“Only if you are.” Julian said quietly, brushing a stray lock of hair away from Iris’s eyes. Asra nodded in agreement, his downy hair soft against her cheek. 

Iris grimaced with confusion, turning her face back towards Julian’s. “You literally wanted to do bodily harm to Asra a week ago, Julian. You want to make love with him now?”

Julian blushed a little, and bit his lip, his eyes flitting to Asra; Asra smiled sheepishly, shrugging slightly. Iris gasped, her eyes wide as she put two and two together – then she laughed, deeply, her shoulders shaking. 

“Arcana help us all...” She panted between laughs. “I should have known.” 

Asra nuzzled his face against her neck, his lips brushing against the dip of her collarbones. “Don’t worry about us right now. Let us take care of you.” 

“We know you love to be spoiled.” Julian murmured in agreement, his eyes dancing, dilating.

Iris took a deep breath and sighed, a wave of relaxation washing over her body. “Yes, please.” She whispered. 

“So polite.” Julian murmured, smiling roguishly beside her; he stretched his fingers back down against her mound, making her mew softly. Asra cupped both of her breasts and lazily kissed and licked her nipples, before his hands trailed down to her leggings, dragging the waistband down under Iris’s hips, freeing Julian’s hand. 

Iris shuddered a little and arched her back as Julian parted her lips with his mother and sister fingers, dipping the pad of his middle finger briefly into her wetness before touching her clitoris, rubbing tenderly. She could hear his breath catch in her ear, puffing quick and hot against her hair; she hummed quietly as he gradually increased the pressure, sending soft arcs of pleasure through her hips. 

Asra was running long lengths of his tongue across Iris’s skin now, between her breasts, across her collarbones, up her neck...she turned to him, and his lips locked with hers, his tongue swimming into her mouth hungrily. Iris gasped as his hand traveled down her bare skin to her sex, around Julian’s gentle fingers to the place that she was blooming from, his fingers dancing against the slick skin before slipping inside of her. 

The moan that escaped from Iris’s lips was so wanton that she blushed; she had fantasized of having two people pleasure her at the same time, but she never imagined it would feel this good, their separate rhythms and distinct touches combining just so, just so, that her bliss swelled hotly in her belly. Asra arched the two fingers in her against her sweetest spot just as Julian shifted from rubbing to swirling, and she cried out quietly, pressing her chest into Asra’s and her ass against Julian’s crotch; she could feel the stiffness, the heat of his erection through the stays of his leggings, feel Asra’s heart pounding in his chest against her bare skin. 

She broke her kiss with Asra to throw her head back against Julian’s neck, making him grunt hotly against her hair; Asra’s lips moved down to her neck again, nipping and sucking. It was mere minutes before ecstasy uncoiled and spasmed through her, to her fingertips, to her toes; she bit her lips and moaned wildly as she came, grinding her hips against the hands under her. 

Her chest heaving, the spots in her vision winking, she searched hungrily for someone to kiss. She was rewarded with Asra’s sweet mouth as he pushed her leggings further down her legs; she shimmied her way out of them, her legs still shaking. Julian had removed his hand from Iris’s mound to undo the stays of his own leggings; having now freed Iris from her pants, Asra was pulling his own off. 

With her lips still locked with Asra’s, Iris reached back and grasped at Julian’s hip, searching, desperate; with her other hand, she pawed at Asra’s bare skin, grasping his erection and pumping slowly, making him groan against her lips. 

Julian finally wrested his cock from his leggings and guided Iris’s hand to him. She fondled him, too, and with a little moan he buried his lips in her hair and grabbed at her breasts, thoroughly enjoying her touch. She grasped both of them for some time before guiding Julian closer to her, pressing his tip against her labia and performing the barrier spell on him. 

His hand left her breast and dragged across her bare skin as he frotted against her wetness, making her arch her back even more; her hand flew up to his hair, tangling in a handful of auburn waves and pulling. He looped his hand under her thigh, close to her knee, and lifted her leg up; with a hot-blooded groan, he sank his teeth into Iris’s neck as he entered her. 

Iris moaned against Asra’s lips as Julian pumped, slowly and shallowly; Asra gave her one hot, final kiss before breaking away, his eyes drowning in darkness as he and Iris locked gazes, as she whimpered through closed lips as Julian moved inside her. With a little groan, Asra flipped himself over, his head now by Iris’s lap, so close his mouth brushed against her skin as he inhaled the scent of her arousal, her delicious slip against his lips. He pressed the flat of his tongue against her clitoris, flicking gently, shivering with delight at the sight of Julian’s cock moving languorously in and out of her mere centimeters from his face. He ran his hands up and down Iris’s sides, her thighs, relishing the feeling of her muscles flexing as she braced herself against Julian’s movements.

Iris moaned loudly again, turning her head to tangle tongues with Julian while she grasped and pumped Asra’s cock, now in front of her face. After a few passionate kisses, she turned back, and, needfully, wrapped her lips around Asra’s tip, savoring the saltiness of his skin, the eager spurt of leak, before sucking him down to the hilt. 

Asra let out a tremulous moan and increased the speed of his tongue; Julian let his head fall back onto the pillow as he focused on the sensations of being inside Iris, her hand tugging on his hair, the sight of her sucking Asra’s cock while taking him. Iris was in bliss, even as she gagged, tears springing up in her eyes, to be so full, to be pleasuring them both with her body. 

It was Iris who came first; after several minutes of Julian moving inside her against her g-spot and Asra pleasuring her, she felt her muscles clamping down, hard and hot. She moaned loudly, wildly, bucking her hips back against him as her climax swelled, ripped, through her. Julian bit his lip and, with a grunt, pulled out of Iris, reaching down to finish himself, but Asra took his tip into his mouth and sucked, savoring the sweetness of Iris’s ecstasy on Julian’s skin. Julian could do nothing but come with a full-body shudder; Asra moaned as Julian’s release filled his mouth, and came down Iris’s throat.

Iris made sure she had milked every last drop from Asra before releasing him from her lips with a wet pop; her heart was pounding in her chest, her breath coming to her in gasps, as she let her head fall back onto Julian’s chest. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her close and kissing her cheek, her ear, her neck, any skin available to him, as he leveled. Asra soon joined them, snaking his arms around Iris’s waist and kissing her; she could taste Julian on his tongue, just as he could taste himself on hers.

For a moment, they said nothing, just absorbed each other’s warmth, listened to heartbeats and steadying breaths. It was Iris who spoke first. 

“That...wasn’t what I was expecting.” 

Julian chuckled in her ear, and Asra smiled widely. “As long as you enjoyed it.” The magician whispered, pressing his forehead to hers. 

There was a groaning of wood as the cedar door opened; it was Muriel, carrying a basket of fresh eggs and an armload of firewood. Iris quickly magicked the furs back over their bodies as Muriel’s eyes slipped over the three of them. His nostrils widened once as he sniffed, but if he noticed anything or cared, he didn’t let on, merely looking mildly annoyed. He stoked the fire and set a pot of water on the hearth; this he filled with what looked like rolled oats. 

“Get dressed.” He said gruffly. “We need to leave soon.” 

“Where are we going?” Julian asked, blinking back the sudden burst of light, his crimson eye still very sensitive. 

“To the mountain.” Muriel said ominously, without looking any of them in the eye.

*******

Iris thought her legs were going to give out under her; she had no idea how many kilometers they must be from the palace, but it had to be a whole day’s journey by foot at that point, their small party was so deep into the southern forests. And still, the mountain loomed over them.

Muriel had graciously fed them spiced porridge with fresh eggs for breakfast (he raised chickens, Iris saw as they left, many of them strutting about the yard in front of his dugout; she couldn’t help but notice how his eyes lit up with fondness as he gently shooed one out of their path), but it was clear he had been anxious to leave. His green eyes kept flitting up to the sky nervously, even though there wasn’t a cloud in sight, long after they left. 

“Are you worried it’ll rain?” Asra asked Muriel quietly from a few paces in front of Iris; Muriel was leading their group, with Vasalisa and Inanna, Muriel’s wolf companion (Iris suspected that she, too, was a familiar – the way she nosed into his hand, the way he looked at her, his brow furrowed for a moment, as if listening) trotting about around them, darting in and out of the brush, playing and exploring. Julian was bringing up the rear behind her. She felt a little bad for him; it was clear that the forest was not his natural habitat, and his clothing, though comfortable – thin cloak, soft leggings, a loose shirt, leather boots – were not quite warm enough for the hike. He didn’t complain, but Iris could see him shivering slightly in the sudden chill.

Iris was grateful that Asra had brought her a change of clothes from the shop; she was wearing a thick, overlarge Alban knit over cozy suede leggings and, now that a crispy layer of frost coated the forest, the only pair of leather boots she owned, black, buckled and knee-high. She had no other cloak with her than the thick white velvet that she wore as part of her costume, but she didn’t mind the color so much in the snow; in fact, she quite liked the way Asra’s eyes had dilated a little when she raised the hood over the crown of her head, making her indigo eyes look all the bluer. She might ask Nadia if she could keep this one; she was sure the Countess would be delighted. 

She paused for a beat, waiting for Julian to catch up to her; she wrapped her arm around his tapered waist, pressing her body sidelong into his, sharing her warmth. Muriel’s rumbling voice cut through the soft sounds of their footfalls. “It’s going to storm. I can smell it.”

Asra nodded, pressing his lips together in thought; he glanced back at Iris and Julian, his brows furrowing. “Ilya, are you cold?” He asked, not waiting for a response; he outstretched his hand, and Iris felt the heat of an incalescence spell wash over both of them, making her skin prickle. Besides her, Julian smiled gratefully at Asra, who winked, turning back to Muriel. 

“Why does Asra call you Ilya?” Iris asked, her cheek pressed against Julian’s arm. Julian’s hand wound its way to her shoulder; secretly, Iris loved the when Julian held her this way, the gentle way he grasped and massaged the soft fullness there, the weight of his arm against her back, the easy intimacy of their closeness. 

“It’s my given name. My Nivenese name.” He said, nostalgia warming his voice. “When I went Prakra to study medicine, the native speakers had some trouble with it. My mentor suggested I use a Prakran or Vesuvian variation. I liked Julian; I started my career with that name, so it stuck.” 

“What does it mean...in Nivenese?” 

“It’s a variation on the name of a prophet from one of the old religions. He was a miracle worker. A healer.” 

Iris smiled. “Then it’s very fitting.” 

Julian smiled back, a little sadly, and said nothing. 

“Are you still fluent? In Nivenese?” Iris asked, turning to him. 

The glint in Julian’s eyes was soft and wicked as he stooped and whispered into Iris’s ear. “_Volim zvukove koje izgovaraš kad sam u tebi._” The language was unlike anything she had ever heard, throatier than Vesuvian or Prakran, harsh z and k and d sounds clashing and pressing against soft t’s, v’s, m’s, and s’s, a startling but soothing cacophony. Hearing him speak it, the sounds falling easily from his lips, stirred her a little. 

She turned to him, her lips mere inches from his. “What does that mean?” 

He couldn’t help but smirk. “I love the sounds you make when I’m inside you.” He whispered to her, his breath hot in her ear. 

Iris blushed, and smacked his shoulder lightly, but a coy grin slipped across her lips. “Do you prefer to be called Ilya?” 

Julian shrugged. “It truly doesn’t matter to me. But if you wanted to call me Ilya in bed again, I wouldn’t stop you.” His devilish smirk widened. 

“You’re terrible this morning.” Iris said, her voice lowered, sultry, silky. “Do you speak any other languages?” 

“A handful. I’m fluent in Nivenese, Prakran, Vesuvian, and Min. I can hold a conversation in Alba and Franc, and I’ve dabbled with Zazaki. And I can read some Romance, but I don’t count that. It’s an old, dead language that only doctors care about.” 

“_Pa mor dda yw'ch Alba_?” Iris asked him slyly in her native tongue. 

“Hmm, _ddim cystal â'ch un chi, mae'n ymddangos_.” He responded; his pronunciation was flawless, even if his accent was a little thick. “_Ble wnaethoch chi ddysgu?_”

“I was born and raised in Albyon.” Iris responded in Vesuvian. “My father was Albanese, my mother Vesuvian. They both taught me their native languages, and Prakran, since they planned to send me to school there when I came of age.” 

“They planned?” Julian asked.

Iris bit her lip, looking straight ahead, her eyes focusing on the path ahead of them. Vasalisa pressed the tip of her nose against Iris’s hand; she ruffled the wolf’s ears fondly. “They died when our home caught fire. I was 13. I survived for years on the streets before I was arrested for stealing. They must have looked up my family records; they found my aunt Opal here in Vesuvia, and I came to live with her when I was 15. I didn’t really go to school after that, but I was apprenticed to Asra shortly after I arrived. He and Opal quickly discovered I had an aptitude for magic.” 

His grip on his shoulder tightened. “To lose your parents so young…” 

Iris’s shoulders shook a little. “It wouldn’t be so bad if I could remember them at all. But all my memories of them are gone.” 

Julian’s brow softened; Iris thought she saw the gentlest quiver of his lips. “But you have your things now...surely there are memories you can recover?” 

Iris thought of the lacquered box, stowed back into Muriel’s trunk for safekeeping while they traveled to the mountain. “I hope so.” She said quietly. She hadn’t realized how much she missed the memories of her parents until she’d been reminded that they were lost to her. Her head twinged again, but she ignored it. 

Julian kissed the top of her head tenderly. They didn’t speak for a while, listening to the sounds of the forest around them, the mostly one-sided conversation between Asra and Muriel ahead of them, Asra’s gentle chatter punctuated with grunts or one-word answers from Muriel. Iris smiled; it was plain to see the fondness, the familiarity between them, the way Asra teased Muriel gently, the way Muriel’s hard eyes softened when they fell on Asra. 

Iris bit her lip. Just as she mustered the strength up to open her mouth, Julian cleared his throat loudly. 

“I, uh...I wanted to...to clear the air, as it were, about the message I sent you...” 

Iris breathed a sigh of relief, her head lolling forward a little. “I wanted to talk to you about that, too.” She said quietly. 

“I...um.” Julian stuttered, his voice faltering. “Iris...you need to know that...that I’m not a good man. I drink, I flirt, I pace, I don’t sleep, I pull my hair out, I find trouble. I didn’t kill Lucio, but I could have.” His eyes darkened now, a sneer forming. “I hated him, with every speck of carbon that holds my body together. I know that darkness exists inside me. I’m capable of doing horrible things.” He turned to Iris now, his eyes forlorn; Iris’s heart clenched. “I can’t...I can’t shake the feeling that I hurt you before, Iris. I couldn’t bear to hurt you again. I’ve...I’ve already hurt you.” 

Iris pulled him a little closer, resting her chin on his shoulder. “What makes you think I’m a good woman?” She asked, staring up at him, meeting his gaze. 

Julian’s eyes widened. “Iris...” 

“No, listen to me.” Iris said firmly. “I’m not perfect. I’m impulsive; I get angry. I’ve thrown a temper-tantrum or two; hell, I slammed a guy’s face into a bar yesterday. I like sex, I like dick – the whole city thinks I’m easy. I drink and flirt and fuck and find trouble, too.” She gestured to Asra. “Asra’s not perfect. He can be cold and calculating, passive-aggressive, withholding. If someone pisses him off, he’s downright vengeful.” She raised one eyebrow at Julian. “I don’t need you to be good, to not hurt me. Pain is the price of being alive. I just….” She stammered over the words that came next. “I just need you to want me. I want you to choose me. To choose us.” 

“Oh, darling. _Draga_.” He said softly, hugging her tightly to him. “There isn’t a universe in which I wouldn’t want you.” 

“Then don’t do stupid shit, like breaking up with me because you don’t want to hurt me.” She said, craning her neck up towards him, her lips parted. 

They kissed, softly, deeply, pausing their walk; ahead of them, Asra and Muriel’s footfalls slowed, no doubt turning back to see what was amiss. It was Julian who pulled away.

“No promises.” He murmured to her. Iris snorted, squeezing him playfully. 

“We’re almost there.” Muriel said brusquely. Iris hadn’t even noticed that the incline of their path had increased, the trees of the forest giving way to the scrub brush of the mountain’s pass. She was grateful now for Asra’s spell, which still warmed her and Julian; the wind here was wicked, and she could feel it knifing through her cloak. 

The final part of the ascent was brutal; by the time they reached Muriel’s runecasting spot, Iris was practically clinging to poor Julian, her legs shaking, knees wobbling.

Iris’s breath caught, crystallized, in her throat as she approached the edge of the cliff; from this vantage point she could see the whole realm, the far-off spires of the palace, the unreal sprawl of the city, the channel, endless seas. The cold mountain air filled her lungs, sparkling inside her, clarifying her as if she had been dipped into freezing water, dredged through salt. The veils between the realms were thinner, gauzy, shimmering, and the unseen stars whispered to her. She understood now why they'd traveled this far for their quest. She had more words for God here.

A hand fell on her shoulder – Asra’s, warm and strong. His brow was set, furrowed with quiet worry. “Iris, I’m going to need your help with what we’re about to do.” 

Iris squared her shoulders, standing taller – already her magic thrummed in her chest, like a heartbeat. “What do you need me to do?” 

He pulled a card from his deck; without looking at it, he handed it to her. **The Magician**. Iris regarded him, perplexed. 

“I’m taking you and Ilya into the Magician’s realm. I have some questions, and I think you and Ilya do too. Besides...” Asra paused, his eyes softening as he searched for the words. “I want...I think you’re ready to meet him. He’s the one who taught me magic.”

It was Iris’s brow that furrowed now. “**The Magician** card taught you magic?”

“Yes, and no.” Asra explained. “The Arcana...they’re archetypes, each an ancient and powerful facet of the human psyche. They exist inside of us; that’s how we’re all able to access their power. But they also exist in their own realms outside of us. We’ll be traveling to that realm today.” 

Iris bit her lip, considering this, then nodded. 

Asra smiled softly. “All I need from you is that you lend me some of your magic, and focus on the voice of the Magician. I know he’s spoken to you before, through the cards. Meditate on the card, and listen for his voice.” Up here, in the presence of the Gods, Asra’s aura was startlingly beautiful, the same swirling violet as his eyes; Iris was awash in it, calmed by it, bolstered by it. She wanted to embrace him, to make love to him, to never let go of him.

“I can do that.” She replied, starry-eyed.

Asra’s smile widened, and he kissed her forehead. “I know you can, Iris.” 

Behind them, there was a crunching of gravel under heavy feet. Muriel was surveying them, his expression dark. 

“You’re taking both of them in?” 

“They both have questions they need to ask.” Asra said, quietly and firmly. Muriel grunted noncommittally, clearly not sold. 

Asra turned to Julian now, who was stupefied by the view. “Ilya...I need you to listen closely.” He said softly, as Julian’s eye snapped to his, wary, careful. “Iris and I will be taking you into the Magician’s realm. It’s dangerous for non-magic users, so we need you to stay close. Iris and I will be with you the whole time.”

Julian’s face rioted with emotions before settling on confusion, his nostrils flaring and his brow arching. “Why are you taking me in? I’m not… I’d just hold you back.” 

Asra shook his head, his expression thoughtful, rueful. “It needs to be you. We’re approaching the communicator of all magical knowledge, the bridge between humanity and the infinite. If we’re to know how you got your mark, how you cured the plague... you need to be there. The Magician will accept no less.”

Julian looked mildly annoyed with this answer, but let out a resigned sigh. "If there's no helping it, but...I don't like it. I don't like...this." He gestured vaguely, wrist rolling, and Iris understood. Magic. The Arcane. Communing with Gods he didn’t believe in.

Iris took his outstretched hand, squeezing reassuringly. “I’ll be by your side the whole time. Asra knows what he’s doing.” 

“And Muriel will be watching over us here, on the physical plane. If anything goes wrong, he can bring us back.” Asra explained. He looked over at Muriel, who closed his eyes and nodded once, slowly. 

Asra gestured for the two of them to sit; they huddled in a circle, their knees touching. Asra took Julian’s hand, and Iris took his other. Iris put her hand on Asra’s back, right over where the sacral energy flowed from him; she felt the magic ebb from her fingertips into his skin, spreading through his spine. His energy flowed gently through them, his magic combined with hers, hot and powerful – she gripped Julian’s hand tightly so he wouldn’t startle. 

“Don’t be afraid.” She whispered to him, but also to herself. “Let your breath guide you.” 

She felt the tension leave Julian’s body beside her, his own energy diffusing out now, different from hers and Asra’s. His aura, fainter, but still beautiful, a powerful red tinged with orange, radiated from him; it stirred her as it washed over her, blending and whirling around hers, around Asra’s. 

She focused now on the voice of the Magician, the card she had slipped into her cloak pocket near her heart. She’d never heard the card’s voices in any physical form, but they streaked through her, bypassing her conscious mind completely, speaking to her entirely through intuition. She focused on the feeling of the Magician, his power, the empowerment that flooded her when he appeared to her. 

Behind her closed eyes, there was a shimmering of energy that ruffled her hair, pressed against her skin; she opened her eyes with a gasp, as if surfacing from deep water. She was on a beach, the sand a blackened purple flecked with sparkling, glowing blues and pinks, as if she were standing on the shoulders of a galaxy; behind her, a wine dark sea roared softly, the sky above her a riotous magenta streaked with rose. 

For a terrifying second, Iris thought she was alone, but her lovers’ presences slowly solidified around her, her hand still on Asra’s back, her fingers still grasping Julian’s tightly. It was difficult for her to feel the warmth of their skin; it was almost as if she was imagining it, remembering it, than actually experiencing it, as if she were holding onto their auras rather than their physical bodies. 

Asra noticed the concern that flitted across her face, and he smiled at her reassuringly. “It’s strange at first, but don’t be afraid.” He whispered to her. Beside them, Julian’s aura wavered as his eyes widened in shock, absorbing the fantasia around them. A shape in front of them was corporealizing, like pigment dropped in water: a fox-headed man covered in soft, fiery fur, red robes lined with glittering gold and shimmering purple, exactly the same as he was on Asra’s Tarot card.

In his eyes were galaxies, every color Iris could name and millions others she couldn’t; as his gaze fell across her, she felt as naked as the day she was born, like when Vasalisa first looked into her eyes, but tenfold, a hundredfold. 

“Asra...you’re back so soon.” The Magician’s voice was unexplainable, many voices layered on top of each other. Iris heard Asra’s voice, heard hers, heard the voice of everyone who had ever practiced magic since the first atoms danced together and the first magician called the Arcana down, all silkily rolled into one soft, smooth sound. “And Iris, kitten, do you recognize me?” A coy smile curled on his dark lips. 

Iris nodded, her voice gone, her throat dry. She had felt his voice many times, rising up from her heart. It was a part of her, the deep well of power that resided in her core, from where she drew her magic. 

The Magician chuckled softly, twinkling eyes falling on Julian now, who was dumbstruck, lips flapping. Iris gripped his hand tightly, lending him her strength. “I know you also, Ilya.” He said quietly, his smile widening. “Though you know not me. I have tugged your strings into action many times before, when the cards have fallen into place for you.” 

Julian flushed. “Thank you?” Iris could barely suppress the giggle that bubbled across her lips.

Asra cleared his throat. “Something is happening at the palace. We have questions.” 

“Hmm.” The magician’s eyes fell onto Iris’s again. “If you came here for answers, you will be sorely disappointed. But if you came searching for more questions, follow me.” 

He peeled aside the fabric of the world as if it were tissue, and held it open for them, gesturing the three of them through the rend. Asra turned to Iris and Julian, nodding encouragingly; Iris nudged Julian through the ripple, following him close behind. Asra slipped through behind him, his face painted with a private smile. 

The realm they stepped into was an exact replica of the shop’s backroom; Iris’s heart ached with longing as she settled into one of the four velvet stools, the four of them each sitting in one of the cardinal directions around the small round table. It wasn’t her shop – there was no telltale smell of teas, herbs, cinnamon and oranges. There was no warmth of the bodies that lived there, not Asra’s mysterious, sensual, playful energy, nor her own aura, feisty, sensitive, independent.

Deftly, the magician shuffled the cards that appeared in his hand. “Something is happening at the palace. That’s vague, isn’t it? Is it something you’ve never seen before?” 

“Nadia is awake, and regaining her memories rapidly.” Asra said quietly. “And Lucio’s presence...it’s growing stronger.” 

Iris startled, turning to Asra. “You’ve...you’ve seen Lucio?” 

Julian’s eyes widened, at full attention now; Asra’s head whipped to her, his eyes darting across her face, his panic barely masked. “You’ve seen him?” 

“Twice now. The first night I was there, just a flash, but he spoke to me...then, when I was in his rooms. When I found the spider key. He...” Iris’s voice caught in her throat. Asra trembled besides her. 

“He attacked you, didn’t he?” 

Iris nodded, almost imperceptibly, her heart racing. Her headache returned with a vengeance.

Julian reached out to touch Iris, his hand covering hers on the low table; though she couldn’t quite feel it, she could see it, sense his aura ebbing nervously against hers. “Did he hurt you?” 

“I’m fine.” She reassured Julian, even as her head pounded; the concern, the fear in his eyes set her spirit alight. Everything was so amplified here; an overwhelming urge to soothe him, to protect him, washed over her. She wanted to make sure he never wore that heartwrenching expression again - that he never felt pain again. 

The Magician cut in. “What you saw looked like Lucio? Things are not always as they appear.” 

“No.” Iris said firmly. “He didn’t look human at all. He looked like...” Iris bit back her lip, the knowledge rising hot in her. “He looked like the Devil Arcana.” 

The magician dealt a card in front of her, which she flipped, knowing what it was. The goat headed man, snakes entwining his fearsome body, red-hot chains flowing from his hands. The Devil. “Yes. This is what he looked like.” Iris said quietly. “Maybe with more mange.” 

A flush rose in Asra’s cheeks now. “Muriel’s been talking of seeing a goat-shaped specter in the woods, too. He swore it was Lucio, but I didn’t want to believe him.” 

Iris nodded. “He said Vasalisa was attacked by Lucio. I...I had seen him already, so I didn’t think to question it. In fact...” Iris raised her eyes to Asra’s. “Muriel knew I had seen him, too. He said the runes told him.”

The Magician’s canine brows arched. “Taking shapes is easy magic. The more familiar you grow with someone, the easier it is to imitate them. But when two beings become familiar enough, the line between them can seem to disappear. The real question is...are you paying attention?” 

There was a crack like lightning as blue smoke filled the room; when it cleared, Iris’s heart leapt. Around the table were three Asras, each wearing the same shocked expression, eyes wide, full lips parted. 

“How well do you know your lovers, Iris? I know Asra, and Ilya...surely I could imitate them, no? Do you think I could fool you?” A voice in her head said, as all three Asras smiled at her, just the one corner of his mouth lifting, each a perfect imitation. 

Iris’s heart pounded. Asra had once warned her that the Magician was fond of tricks, but she hadn’t expected one the very first time she met him face-to-face. She searched each of the three faces in front of her, but they were identical, inscrutable. She bit her lip, but it took only one moment for her answer came to her. 

“Let me kiss you. I’ll know.” 

“Ohohohohohoho, how curious, kitten.” The voice in her head cackled. Her eyes were compelled shut. 

“Tell me, Iris...who is kissing you now?”

Without warning, lips brushed gently against hers; she was overwhelmed, again, by how intensely she felt her emotions here, how she absorbed the emotions of others, her clairvoyance humming, haywire. Their kiss was delicate but passionate, eager but responsive; as she kissed back, they pressed closer to her, hands wrapping around her waist, gliding up the small of her back, tracing her spine. She shuddered, and touched their neck; the soft skin, the taut muscle, all felt like Asra’s, but the power that surged forth from them, an eagerness to please, generous, intelligent, enthusiastic, but also...a deep sense of powerlessness, of hopelessness, a fear of not being enough, not being worthy…

“Oh, Julian...” She whispered, an overwhelming sadness blooming in her; she pulled him closer to her. The glamour over him faded as she opened her eyes; a warm smile slipped across his face, and his gray eye twinkled. “I would know you anywhere.” She whispered to him, pushing an auburn curl from his brow. 

She was spun out of his arms by an unknown force, into the arms of another Asra; her eyes were forced closed again as a pair of lips were sealed over hers. She melted; this kiss was hot and liquid, desire spreading to her legs. She was awash in a rainbow of emotions, attraction and excitement and fascination. Two hands grasped the sides of her face and pulled her closer, tongue slipping in playfully. The aura of this Asra was coy and mercurial, but also a little distant, a little withholding. When Iris pulled away, she felt uncertain; it felt like Asra, achingly like Asra, and yet…

When she was pulled into the last set of arms, their lips whispering against hers before pressing fully, it was all clear. This kiss made Iris ache; it radiated desire, devotion, and longing, but there was also a pain, like a single drop of blood in a cup of water. These lips wanted to search every corner of her soul, know every inch of her body, witness her every movement, spend every moment with her; but they knew it was impossible, knew their love was so powerful it could consume her alive, consume him alive. In every movement there was restraint, resistance. These conflicting emotions – pulling closer, pushing away – was nearly tearing them in two. 

Iris pulled away with a gasp, forcing her eyes open, placing her hand over the heart of this Asra. It was beating in tandem with hers, the exact same, always, always. She looked deep into his eyes; she didn’t need to say anything. 

The second Asra chuckled, and snapped his fingers, taking back his half-fox form. Asra pulled her into a tight embrace, his gaze heavy with pride. 

“Very impressive, Iris.” The Magician crooned, his eyebrow arching. “Asra was right...your power grows in leaps and bounds. You clearly see the ones you love in the light that shines from you.” 

Iris’s head twinged a little. “The light?” She repeated as Asra helped her back onto the velvet pouf. Julian settled at the table across from her, his eyes flitting between her and the Magician.

The Magician’s nose twitched, lips curling into something like a smile. “The truth is not always simple, but light can scatter even the deepest darkness, even in those who have lost their way.” His eyes flashed fiercely. “And yet...you see others so clearly, but what is it you see when you look in the mirror, kitten?” 

Iris inhaled sharply, the images from her dreams flooding her: the mirrors, the doors, the labyrinth, the white, the white. The very corners of the Magician’s mouth turned as he surveyed Iris – even as she felt Asra and Julian’s gazes on her, she couldn’t look away. He tutted softly, his ink-dark claws swirling on the table in front of them – a perfectly smooth, starry orb appeared, floating, showing not Iris’s face, but Lucio’s. 

“It is our connections that keep us attuned to the Universe – to other mortals, certainly, but also to place, to time, to nature, to identity, to the Arcana. Connecting deeply to an Arcana can open up a wellspring of power, the Universe’s power, in anyone, but if the connection is too deep, you can lose yourself completely to that archetype. The Devil, in particular, is a dangerous God to give yourself to. But it seems our friend Lucio gave himself over willingly.” 

Iris sat up a little straighter. “He willingly tried to become one with the Devil?” 

The Magician nodded. “He tried, and he failed.” 

“How? How did he fail?” Asra pressed him. 

“Why don’t you ask him?” The Magician asked playfully, his eyebrows raised. There was finality in his voice; Iris and Asra both understood not to question further. 

He turned his celestial eyes to Julian. “Ilya. You’ve been silent all this time, yet you would not have made the journey without a heavy burden. What weighs on you?” 

Julian swallowed hard. Iris reached across the table to touch his hand, rub her thumb over his knuckles, urging him on. His eyes flitted to her, uncertain, then turned back to the Magician.

“I’m missing memories...more than a year’s worth, from when I was working in the palace.” He took a deep breath. “The years I can remember are foglike, hazy, like I was in a waking dream, living half a life. I woke up with a gift I don’t remember, confessing to a crime I didn’t commit.” 

The Magician’s eyes flitted to Asra, his smile knowing as he rested his chin in his other hand lazily. He made a small gesture with his other hand, spinning his claws on his rotating wrist before closing them tightly into his fist; Julian’s eyelids dropped as if in sleep, chin drooping to his chest. 

“Your dear _friend_ wants his memories back, Asra. When will you return them to him?” Iris sensed an iciness in the Magician’s voice, a stark contrast from the playful warmth from before.

Beside her, Asra tensed. He said nothing. 

The Magician clicked his tongue, the smile falling from his face. “Don’t ignore the Universe, Asra. You won’t get away with playing God forever.” His eyes flitted to Iris, before returning back to Asra. “You’ve been down this path before. How did that end for you?” 

Iris’s heart clenched, and she wheeled to Asra as the Magician unfroze Julian. “Your memories are closer than you think, Ilya, but your search is not over. When the Universe calls you to move, do not hesitate.” His starry gaze fell on Asra one more time, a wicked smirk now splitting his canine face. 

“I think that’s enough questions for now.” He snapped his fingers once, and with a jolt, Iris woke on the mountainside. 

It was pouring rain; Iris could hear it, but she couldn’t feel it – in fact, she was quite dry. When she opened her eyes, the sky was pitch black; it was deep into the night. Muriel loomed over her, his expression stony. A ward, domed over their bodies, sheltered them from the rain, which splashed silently against Muriel’s magic. 

Iris felt a cool nose press into her cheek as she stirred – it was Vasalisa, her softness and warmth curled against Iris’s chest, a gentle whine rising up from her throat. 

“Hey, girl.” Iris murmured, scratching her behind the ears. Vasalisa nuzzled her again, and Iris kissed Vasalisa’s nose. “I didn’t mean to worry you. Our friend Muriel kept me safe. Asra kept me safe.” 

Muriel, above her, made a noise that Iris couldn’t interpret – it was either disagreement, or mortification. 

Julian sat up carefully, rubbing and rolling his neck. “Well, that wasn’t particularly enlightening.” 

“It was very enlightening.” Iris said quietly, her eyes falling on Asra, who was checking the skies. 

“How long?” He asked Muriel. 

“The sun set two hours ago.” Muriel said quietly. 

“Damn.” Asra stood, the top of his head almost passing through Muriel’s ward. “We need to head back to the city.” 

“What’s the rush?” Muriel said. “Did you get answers?” 

“Lucio tried to...become?...the Devil Arcana.” Julian said quietly, his eyes far away. 

“He’s growing stronger, too. He attacked me, attacked Vasalisa.” Iris added. “He must be drawing his strength from something. Maybe the Devil is bolstering him.” 

Muriel’s chilly gaze grew even colder. He turned to Asra. “Are you surprised?” 

“No…” Asra said, chewing his thumb. “But I want to know how he did it. And I think...knowing how will answer a lot of our questions. All of our questions.” His gaze slid over Julian, then Iris. 

“Okay, but how will we figure that out?” Iris asked, arching one brow. 

Asra’s eyes glittered wickedly now. “We ask him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _MOC: There's only one bed...oops. _
> 
> _Mary Oliver died while I was first drafting this chapter. If y’all haven’t read [WIld Geese](http://www.phys.unm.edu/~tw/fas/yits/archive/oliver_wildgeese.html) or [The Summer Day](http://www.phys.unm.edu/~tw/fas/yits/archive/oliver_thesummerday.html), google that shit because the world would be a better place if everyone read those poems (or poems in general, fight me). There is a tiny chance that I maybe slipped a reference to one of those poems in this chapter. _
> 
> _See y'all in the Wheel. If you're good, there will be more threesomes. _


	10. Wheel of Fortune, Part 1: It's Just The Lights Coming On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **alt-J - Tessellate **
> 
> _CW: Allusions to noncon/dubcon, some violence_

Iris was staring at the backroom wall, her lips pursed with confusion, annoyance. “This has been here for nearly _six_ years?” 

In front of her, the whitewashed wall was rippling, the border of the portal shimmering and wavering, the soft morning light bending wildly into the void. Beside her, Asra smirked. 

“It’s easy to hide something no one is looking for.” He said quietly. “You didn’t remember, but we used it often when we both worked at the palace.” 

“That’s all well and good, but you never told _me_ about it.” Julian said from Iris’s other side, clearly annoyed, his arms crossed across his broad chest, long fingers tapping anxiously. “It’s quite a hike here from the palace.” 

“I gave you a key.” Asra said, his brows raised. “Forgive me if I didn’t give you a portal directly into our home, also.” His gorgeous face glowed wickedly. “And if I remember correctly, you were quite motivated to get yourself here.”

Iris couldn’t help but giggle lightly at the color that rose to Julian’s cheeks. “Asra, how many of these portals did you rend?” She asked him, holding her hand out in front of it. The magic tugged playfully at her skin, arcing around her fingers; she could feel gravity warping around her, desperately trying to whisper her in.

Asra shrugged. “A few. We didn’t have a lot of time to traipse around the realm when the plague was at its peak. They don’t take any magic to maintain, just to open and close.” 

They had traveled to the shop via portal from Muriel’s hut – or rather, they had traveled to the market; the portal was located right behind Selasi’s bakery, also right under Iris’s nose. And from the mountainside, Asra had opened up a portal to Muriel’s home (after making them walk there in the first place, the ass), where they collected their things before crossing over and bunking down here for the night, hatching their plan. 

She, Asra, and Julian had left Muriel at the Chapel of Cedars for some much-needed solitude before he was summoned to the palace; Iris was surprised how readily he’d agreed to testify for Julian, despite his clear distaste with returning to court and his lukewarm-at-best feelings for the doctor. The more time she spent with Muriel, the more she could sense Asra’s fingerprints on him, and his on Asra; despite the fact that he still treated her cautiously, he was growing on her. Before they left, he had, very privately, pulled her aside, handing her two proper charms secured on long lanyards like Asra’s, each with a tiny leather pouch filled with sage, cedar shavings, and myrrh. 

“Thank you.” He’d muttered. “For...for bringing the key here. One for you, and...one for him.” He’d absentmindedly touched the bare skin on his neck as he lifted his chin towards Julian. He met her eyes very briefly, a dusky red spreading across his nose, before turning away. 

Iris bit her lip, pulling herself back to the present from her daydreaming. She needed to focus; the first part of their plan was painfully easy, but still delicate. Iris’s heart still pounded in her chest at the thought of bringing Julian directly into the palace, even though she knew Nadia was practically convinced of his innocence; she wasn’t the only person pulling strings at court. Iris’s fingers wound into Julian’s graceful hand, the long fingers intertwining naturally with hers. 

As she held him last night while they drifted into sleep, all of them piled into her and Asra’s bed, Iris had considered the thought that this might be the last time he slept in her arms. Even with Asra on her other side, his breath hot and sweet against her hair, and her chest pressed against Julian’s, his heartbeat rhythmic and soft, the warmth of Vasalisa asleep at their feet, she couldn’t keep herself from conjuring the image of him alone in the dungeons, awaiting trial in the coliseum, his body swinging from the gallows; her heart raced with panic, her breath quickening in her throat. 

It was Julian, who also couldn’t sleep, who soothed her, his sweet kisses falling against her jaw, her cheeks, her lips. “_Sve će biti u redu_,” he murmured over and over to her, almost like a song; his husky tenor was tender and quiet as he tried not to rouse Asra. It was to this soft litany that she had finally fallen asleep, only waking in the morning to the smell of Asra brewing coffee for the two of them, Iris’s with a touch of honey, cream, and cardamom, Julian’s black as oblivion.

Asra’s hand smoothed over her shoulder now, gently urging her forward. She gripped Julian’s fingers even tighter, and, screwing her eyes shut, ran through the portal, Vasalisa at her heels, Julian close behind her. For a moment, they were lost in the void, frightening, frigid, and airless, before the musty scent of mouldering paper filled Iris’s nostrils and they rushed through the wall into the forgotten palace library. 

Her breath leveled as the air rushed back into her lungs, but beside her, she could feel Julian trembling. Her hand instinctually flew to his back, her hand running gently down his spine, comforting him; unbidden, the memories she had seen of him in this library rushed back to her, the voices of the books around her whispering agitatedly as Asra stepped through the portal and sealed it behind him with a fluid motion like closing a zipper. He must have noticed her distress; he kissed her temple, his lips warm against her skin. 

“Are you ready, Iris?” He whispered to her. She nodded, kissing him quickly, and craned her neck up to kiss Julian’s cheek before turning away from them, racing to the library’s door and wrenching it open.

In the hallway, she broke into a run, searching for any sign of Nadia or Portia. She needed to move before she attracted attention; in street clothes and with Vasalisa at her heels, she knew it was only a matter of time before she was noticed, and news of her return reached the Courtiers. 

It was still quite early; she might be able to catch them at breakfast. As she approached the dining room’s door, she shouldered through without waiting for the porter to announce her. There was Nadia, sitting at the head of the table with another stack of papers to review, the chamberlain murmuring in her ear; Portia, seated beside her, picking at her own breakfast, eyed Iris in shock. Iris beckoned them to her with two hands; with only a moment’s hesitation, both women stood up and rushed to her, their brows furrowed with confusion.

Without saying anything, Iris grabbed both of their wrists and tugged them through the door; the four of them rushed wordlessly down the hallways. Iris sensed Nadia and Portia’s radiating confusion, especially as their eyes fell on the wild wolf trotting beside them, as they wove their way back to the beautiful library doors, which Iris had left ajar. She muscled one of the heavy doors open and gestured the two of them through, her and Vasalisa close behind. 

Julian was standing in front of the stained glass window, his hands on his hips, his eyes fixed on the gentle morning light that filtered through; Asra lounged in an overstuffed armchair a few paces away, face dappled with blues and reds, resting his temple on his knuckles. Together, they struck a poignant silhouette, one that made Iris’s breath catch in her throat. At the sight of Iris’s return with her charges, Asra stood quietly, and placed his hand on Julian’s shoulder. Julian turned, just as Portia’s gaze fell over his shape; her eyes glittered with tears before she ran headlong into him, throwing her arms around his trunk. 

Besides Iris, Nadia froze; they both watched as Julian hesitantly wrapped his arms around his sister, rubbing her back gently as she sobbed, his brow arched a little quizzically. “I was worried sick about you, _ti nepodnošljiv tikvan_, with your _glupa melodramatična_ note!” Portia yelled at him, now pounding her fists into his chest. “I thought you were going to disappear again!” Suddenly, her eyes flew wide and she spun back to Nadia, her mouth slack. 

Nadia’s lips curled into a half-smile now, her brows raised in amusement. Iris suppressed a snort, her suspicions confirmed; if the Countess had intuited that she and Julian were sleeping together, she would have intuited that Julian and Portia were related, too. “Your concern for your brother is touching, Portia.” Nadia teased her, her eyes dancing. 

Both Portia and Julian started, Portia from embarrassment, and Julian...it was almost as if Julian had forgotten Iris and Asra brought him here for an audience with Nadia. His one-eyed gaze locked with the Countess as she regarded him curiously, wilting a little in her fierce, penetrating stare. 

“Doctor Devorak...we meet again.” She said quietly, her voice honeyed and dripping. “Though I must confess, my memory is not what it was.” She gracefully crossed the distance between them, and held out her hand to Julian; with one fluid motion, Julian bowed, dropping to his knee and kissing her ring. 

Nadia raised her eyebrows, impressed. “Your decorum is impeccable, but please do away with it. I should like for us to speak as equals, as we used to.” 

Julian straightened. “My memory isn’t what it was either, Countess.” He surveyed her carefully. “But I remember bits and pieces of my time working here, and some of my most vivid memories are of our friendship.” 

Nadia’s brows softened; she looked embarrassed, but pleased. “It pains me that I do not remember it; I’m sure I would cherish those memories, too. I wish we were meeting again under more pleasant circumstances.” Her eyes darted to Iris now, who stepped forward towards them. 

“Nadia...we have a witness who can corroborate that Julian had nothing to do with the fire. He was locked in the dungeons that night, released only after the fire was set.” Iris’s expression was firm, confident. “That, combined with the fact that Lucio was burned with marked fire, which Julian can’t cast...that Julian was acting as Lucio’s private doctor, keeping him alive for years with the plague...we can prove it wasn’t him.” 

Nadia’s smile widened. “I am glad to hear it, Iris. Your witness...is it the Scourge?”

Iris nodded again. “His name is Muriel. He’s a Vesuvian citizen, and a dear friend of Asra’s. Of ours.” Her eyes flitted to Asra, who smiled encouragingly. “He’s agreed to give his testimony.” 

Nadia’s eyes glittered. “I should love to meet him; I believe the reparations for his bondage are due.”  
Her eyes roved over Julian and Asra, before returning to Iris. “But we still do not know who killed Lucio.” 

It was Asra who spoke next. “We have a theory. And if we’re right...it’s possible that Lucio wasn’t killed by anyone at all, but he rather died in a ritual gone wrong.” 

Nadia’s eyebrows almost disappeared into her hairline. “A ritual? Of what sort? To achieve what end?” 

“All great questions.” Julian said with a wry smile.

“Questions we think we can answer, if you agree to help us.” Iris added quietly. “But it involves us – you, me, Julian, Asra – going back to Lucio’s wing, some interesting ritual items...and an open mind.” 

“Whatever you need.” Nadia nodded, her eyes sparkling now with intrigue. “Portia will see to it. I assume we are moving in secrecy with this.” Beside her, Portia nodded, the corners of her lips curling up knowingly.

“Yes.” Iris said quietly. “We’re concerned about the Courtiers. Something is strengthening Lucio, and I can’t shake the feeling that they’re involved somehow. The longer we keep them in the dark, the better.” 

“Then I will craft the notice to the Courtiers that we believe the doctor is innocent very carefully, but I am sure they will need to be certain for themselves. You had best prepare your arguments.” Her eyes swung to Julian now. “Both of you. All of you.” 

“Do you have a list of what you need?” Portia asked. “When do you need these things by?”

Asra procured a slip of paper and handed it to Portia. “As soon as possible. Today, if we can.” 

Portia flipped the note open and surveyed the list; her brows arched incredulously, lifting her curious gaze up to Asra. 

“I can have these ready in the hour, but...” For a moment, she was lost for words. “...what is all of this for?” 

“If we’re to lure Lucio out, we need a few of his favorite things.” Asra said coyly, sly-eyed. 

Nadia’s lips curled into a smile. “I think I know what kind of ritual this is going to be. Perhaps, then, baths are in order?” 

Iris loosed a grateful sigh; she hadn’t bathed since she and Asra had returned from the cave three days ago. “Yes, please.” 

“Of course...please make use of my baths. Portia, if you could escort them...and use the servants staircase, dear. I will inform the guard that Julian is now a guest of the palace, but I would prefer not to cause alarm.” 

Portia nodded, her lips pursed conspiratorially, her eyes alight. “Lucky for you three. Milady’s bathrooms are the finest in the palace. Though...” Her eyes fell on Vasalisa, at Iris’s heels. “What shall we do about...erm?” 

“Vasalisa.” Iris said quietly. “She’s my familiar.” The word was still so strange to speak, even as the sweet she-wolf nosed Iris’s palm encouragingly, rubbing her muzzle against Iris’s fingers. Iris stroked her silky ears, scratched the skin through the sparser fur behind them. “She’s just like Faust – she won’t do anything to anyone if there’s no threat to me. But if you’re worried about scaring the staff, I can send her to the guest room. She’ll be able to sniff it out.” 

Portia spirited the three of them out into the hallway and through a clandestine swinging panel, revealing a spiralling staircase. This whisked them up several floors, spitting them out in a very quiet wing of the palace, where Portia stopped them at a dramatic marble arch. 

“All right, behave now, you three. Especially you, Ilya.” She gave him a playful wink, before turning to Asra. “I’ll have Ami and Primula leave your requested changes of clothing in the dressing rooms. Other than that, you shouldn’t be disturbed up here.” With a little swing of her hips, she flounced away. 

There was a moment’s hesitation, before Asra laid his palm on the mahogany wood and pushed the door open. Iris had seen Nadia’s water closet in a memory, and her bathroom was just as glamorous, just as dazzling: the beautiful blue-sky frescoed ceiling, the white marble soaking tub recessed into the opulently tiled floor, an absolutely giant picture window overlooking the gardens, orchards, and greenhouses. Long, graceful gold vases filled with fragrant lavender and jasmine blossoms dotted the ledge above the bath, which was covered in opulent jars, glass bottles, and vials of cosmetics and bath products. 

Iris jumped a little when she felt hands on her shoulders; it was Asra, gently kneading the bare skin of her shoulders, pulling her off-the-shoulder blouse down slightly. “If anyone needs to relax before what we’re about to do, it’s you, Iris.” He murmured in her ear. “This won’t be easy for any of us, but you were just attacked in that room.” He began to help her undress, his hands and movements gentle. 

Julian was out of earshot, filling the tub with water, fussing with the temperature, unstoppering the bath products to sniff out their contents. There was a very large jar of grayish salts, dotted with lavender and rose petals with a wooden scoop stuck in it; his eyes lit up when he smelled it, rubbing it between his fingers, a wide, nostalgic smile crossing his face. He deposited three large scoops into the running water; the steam rising from the hot water turned a very pale blue, and a scent like the sea, but also faintly floral, wafted up to Iris as Asra removed her last garment.

His violet eyes roved over her body, tracing the soft curves of her hips, the cinch of her waist, and a moony smile stretched across his tawny lips. She smoothed the fabric of his collared shirt absentmindedly before lifting it over his shoulders. He was so beautiful that Iris ached; tenderly, she ran her hands over his chest, feeling the swell of the muscles there, the impossible amber skin; her palms came to rest over his heart, the soft thump of his steady heartbeat relaxing her, amplifying, echoing, against her own. He slid off his pants, and wrapped his arms around Iris, holding her for a moment, his forehead against hers, his hands on her cheeks, as the warmth of his skin radiated into her. 

Behind them, there was the quiet creak of pipes closing, and the soft sound of rushing water stopped; Iris turned, and saw that Julian had undressed, watching them now with a patient smile. He held his hand out to Iris, who took it, stepping out of Asra’s arms towards the bath. It was Julian now who stared at Iris’s body, and she couldn’t help but stare, either, at the graceful slope of his neck, the width and strength of his shoulders, his broad chest and rippling abs. His eyes were warm and leaden with desire and devotion, his lips parting as she approached him. 

“Look at you, my darling.” He murmured. “You’re a vision.”

She gripped his hand a little tighter, blushing, as he helped lower her into the bath. The water was perfectly warm, sweetly scented with franc lavender and Altansarnai rose and the tang of the sea, a gentle slickness kissing Iris’s skin as she sank into the steaming water. 

“This is divine. What is it?” She whispered, closing her eyes and dunking her head as Julian slipped in after her, Asra close behind. The bathtub was large, but not quite built for three bodies, especially the bodies of two rather sturdy males; the waters shifted around her as Asra smoothed by her, settling into the curved grove of the tub furthest from the spout. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest so she was sitting between his legs; Julian sat across from them, his long limbs a little akimbo.

Iris stretched out her legs so her toes grazed the insides of his thighs, a playful smile swimming across her face as she slicked her hair back. Julian took her feet in his hands and ran his thumbs firmly over her arches, making Iris hum – she was used to her feet smarting from walking barefoot everywhere, but she hadn’t realized how sore they were until Julian was working her aches out with his deft fingers. 

“They’re bathing salts from Nevivon, on the other side of the Quiet sea. One of Nevivon’s finest exports. I imagine the Altansarnai roses are grown on the coast as well.” Julian’s eyes swam with nostalgia again; Asra made a small contented noise as Iris laid her head on his chest, scooping the water up in his free hand to run it through her hair. 

“Tell us more about Nevivon.” He said quietly to Julian. “You never used to talk about it.” 

Iris’s heart swelled as Julian’s gaze flew to the horizon, a small smile forming on his sculpted lips. “It’s a huge port city and the seat of the realm, like Vesuvia, but we lived on the outskirts of the city on a tiny homestead right by the sea. My earliest memories are of waking up to the smell of saltwater and my mother cooking flatbread, the rush of the ocean. It was always warm, warmer than Vesuvia, even in winter, and the sea was this beautiful clear turquoise in sun. It wasn’t far to get to the port, which was always busy – it was there I learned to speak Franc, Alba, Prakran, and Min, from the sailors who docked there. As soon as I was old enough to toddle around on my own, I was running around the city, talking to sailors and tourists, learning about the world outside. By the time I was ten or so, when Portia was born, I knew I wanted to travel.” 

Iris smiled softly, as Asra searched the bottles above her. He found his mark in a large gold and purple dram, and squirted a copious amount of a silky-looking liquid into his open palm, which he gently spread across Iris’s hair, creating a generous lather. She rewarded Asra by rubbing her hands in long strokes on his thighs around her hips. “When was the last time you went back?” She asked Julian.

Julian shook his head. “Not since I left. My mother and father, they, erm...” He paused. “My mother, Saoirse, was from the Isle of Meath, a Gael. She was visiting Nevivon as a young woman on tour, to bathe in the salt springs – it was a very popular resort destination. She met my father, Nikolya, at a dance – he was a musician. Nine months later, they had me.” He paused now, his gaze drifting downward into the swirling water, and pressed his lips together in thought. “A year or two after Portia was born, they left to visit my mother’s family in Meath, but their ship sank off the coast of Albyon. We were raised by our grandmother after that, but she died a few years ago now. With Portia here… there’s no one to return home to.” 

Iris’s heart ached for him – she had no idea. She reached under the water and touched his knee, rubbing her thumb gently over his skin. “I’d love to see it someday. Nevivon.” She said to him, her eyes warm and misty. “Your old home.” 

He smiled, a little sadly now, and took her hand in his as he stared out the window at the gardens below. “I’d love to take you there. I know you’d love it, Iris. Maybe...maybe it’s time I returned.” 

Asra was smoothing a conditioning oil through Iris’s hair now, having rinsed the suds from the clarifier off of her. “Ilya, I didn’t know you were an orphan.” He said quietly. “Iris and I are, too.” 

Julian shrugged, smirking now, his gaze returning to them.“I suppose that means we have to look out for each other, hm?” He dunked his head under the water, wetting his auburn waves. 

Iris took the clarifier bottle from the side of the bath and squeezed some out in her hand; she ran her hands through Julian’s hair, massaging his scalp as the lather formed. “I suppose so.” She said softly, a small sad smile flitting across her face. She knew him well enough to know that this was a deflection. She wondered how much it hurt him to know that he could never return home; for her, it was an emptiness that would never be filled. 

They were quiet now, as Iris cleansed Julian’s hair, Asra washing the skin on her back with a damp washcloth. After she smoothed on the conditioner, she turned around and washed Asra’s hair, reveling in the fluffiness of it, the exact opposite of Julian’s thick silky locks, as Julian gently rubbed more of the salts into the rougher skin of her shoulders, her back, and her arms, softening and exfoliating them.

The water was growing cool now, and Iris’s fingers and toes were starting to prune. Julian pulled her into his lap and kissed her neck. “It’s probably time, isn’t it?” He murmured against her damp skin.

“I wish it wasn’t.” Iris said quietly, pressing her cheek into his. 

Asra heaved a sigh across from them, stretching his back, rotating his shoulders so the muscles flexed. “I agree...this isn’t going to be fun. Iris...” His eyes sparkled with apprehension. “If you don’t want to do this...” 

She shook her head vehemently, standing up in the tub. “We need to draw him out. If this is the best way… I’m game.” She set gaze firmly, a little smirk turning her lips. “Let’s roast the bastard.” 

“There’s our girl.” Julian said with a knowing, wolfish grin. Asra couldn’t help but smile as he helped Iris out of the tub. 

As promised, they found their clothes laid out for them in Nadia’s dressing rooms – Iris’s was in Nadia’s, and her lovers’ in the one right across the arched hallway, now empty. Laid out for her on the purple velvet dressing pouf was a white satin robe, embroidered all over with soft pink cherry blossoms, lavender lotuses, and green, purple, and pink peacocks, all stitched in delicate, sumptuous gold thread. It was absolutely gorgeous, and as Iris ran her hands over it, she felt a rush of warmth, a smoky breath of oranges and herbs. Asra. At one point, she saw, this had been a gift from him.

The garment next to it made Iris’s heart pound. It was a gray lace bodysuit with panels of dove-gray velvet across the ribs and waist, with a high bikini cut. The gray lace was all that covered her breasts and her sex; she quivered as she pulled it up over her hips. 

It fit perfectly, the cups of the breasts molded as if for her curves, the cut hitting right at the place where her hip bones began their descent into swells of flesh. She realized, with a start, that this must have been made for her long ago. She gulped, bile rising in her throat. Who had commissioned such a luxurious, intimate piece for her? Her intuition whispered the answer, and she had to fight back the impulse to claw the beautiful lingerie off her body in disgust.

She slipped the robe over her shoulders and caught her reflection out of the corner of her eye; she turned towards the full length mirror, saw the way the bodysuit emphasized her curves, gently lifted her breasts, the way the robe skimmed slinkily across her shoulders and down the length of her body. With her short wet hair plastered against her forehead, her skin still gleaming from the bathing oils, she felt like a cow being led to slaughter. 

Two figures appeared in the mirror, hovering in the open doorway; Iris wheeled around, instinctually pulling the robe closed around her waist. Julian and Asra were dressed in bathing robes of the softest, nearly see-through gossamer, Julian’s black, Asra’s a pure white, both edged with coppery gold and tied about their waists with embroidered belts. Their skin, still wet from the bath, their hair damp, their bodies on display for Iris to drink in – she felt a hot rush of desire as she took in the sight of both of them. When their gazes fell her, she understood that they must feel the same way about her; Asra’s eyes dilated as he looked her up and down, his lips parted, and Julian blushed very faintly, biting the corner of his mouth. 

“If we look as tempting as you, Lucio doesn’t stand a chance.” Asra murmured, the corners of his mouth turning as he ran his fingers over the satin that cloaked Iris’s shoulder. 

“I...I don’t think that will be an issue.” Iris stammered. Julian opened his mouth to say something, but there were two loud knocks on the door. They barely had any warning before Portia bustled in. 

Her gaze flitted across the three of them with interest, though she reeled and blushed a little at the sight of her brother, averting her eyes away. “The master suite is ready, you three. I’m not sure what you’ll be doing with all of that food, but don’t waste the Sonnet Lore, please. And...” her breath caught a little in her throat. “Please, be careful in there.” 

“We will, Portia.” Iris said with a smile. “We always are.” 

Portia snorted, rolled her eyes dramatically, and pressed her hip against one of the marble tiles on the wall, by the dressing rooms, revealing another secret staircase. 

“Go down that, and you’ll come to a hallway. At the end of the hallway you’ll find a panel with a handle. That will take you directly to Lucio’s chambers.” 

Julian’s hand found Iris’s waist, pulling her gently to him. “Are you ready, Iris?” 

Iris swallowed. “As I’ll ever be.” Her eyes flew to Asra, who took her hand, interlacing their fingers.

“We’ll all be there together. I won’t let anything happen to you.” He smiled, a touch wanly. His eyes flitted to Julian’s. “We won’t let anything happen to you.” 

Down the staircase and through the damp stone hallway they went, until they came to a wood panel with a gilded handle. Iris took a deep breath, and shoved it open.

They entered into a wood-paneled antechamber of mahogany wood, where Nadia was waiting for them with a tall guard – Iris recognized him to be Bludmila. (The hunt for the **Justice** card had been only a week ago; to Iris, it felt like a lifetime.) The Countess was dressed only in a robe of a beautiful lavender and tawny gold that made her deep skin glow, and for the first time since Iris had seen her in the present, her long hair was down around her shoulders, falling just past her hips. 

“Thank you for escorting me, ‘Mila. As always, your discretion is invaluable.” She raised an eyebrow at the guard as she dismissed him; it was an expression a gratitude, but also a warning. Bludmila bowed deeply, his eyes flitting to the three of them only once, a gaze that betrayed no emotion, before he left. 

“I told him we were blessing the room, after the events of Saturday.” Her gaze fell on the three of them, a small smile flitting across her features, though Iris could tell that she was apprehensive of what they were about to do. “Though, I suppose it looks more like we’re about to have an orgy.” 

Iris sighed. “Well, he wouldn’t be too far off.” It was she who opened the antechamber door to the bedroom. 

It stood in stark contrast to Saturday, having been turned down and scrubbed stem to stern by the court staff in the time that had passed; without the fine coating of dust, it was opulent and rich, inviting even. The whole room was awash in a reddish-orange light from the giant candelabra, now lit with carmine-red flames. Even the portrait had been carefully cleaned and restored, the shine on Lucio’s hair, the bright bone of the horse’s skull, gleaming ominously. 

Beside her, Iris felt Julian shudder. She grabbed his hand instinctually, squeezing his wide palm before interlacing her fingers with his. 

“I...” He paused, searching for words. “I never imagined I’d be back in this room. I thought it was destroyed.” He said to Iris quietly. She had no response, other than to squeeze his hand again. 

Iris was tense – despite the bath, which had left her more relaxed than she’d been all week, she could feel her magic sparking at her fingertips. She was a little surprised; she thought she would feel Lucio’s breath on her back as soon as they walked into the room, but she felt nothing, nothing but the sinister knot in her stomach. 

Nadia was surveying the painting as Asra fiddled with something at the foot of the bed; a bottle of deep, dark red wine, the Sonnet Lore. When Iris’s eyes fell on what else was laid out there, she couldn’t help but gasp. Even though she had reviewed the list, seeing it laid out in person made her head swim: mountains of fruit, red grapes and pomegranates, grilled peaches, skewers of delectably charred meat and vegetables, boxes of succulent chocolate truffles, and an impeccably beautiful black forest cake, dotted with cherries, no doubt whipped up in a frenzy by the kitchen staff. 

Nadia spoke, just as Asra worked the cork out of the bottle with his magic, the dense scent of dry, fruity red wine filling the room. “I had hoped...seeing his face like this would spark some memory in me. I don’t even remember what he looked like.” 

Julian’s brows furrowed. “You have no memory of your, um...late husband at all?” He looked a little like he wanted to take her temperature. 

Nadia shook her head. “I know of things, but I do not remember them.” She looked back, her eyes meeting Iris’s, an arc of knowing snapping between the two women. “Especially his face, I cannot recall.” 

Asra was pouring the wine now, four massive goblets of it, nearly draining the bottle. “Nadi, if it makes you feel better, I don’t recognize Lucio in that portrait either. He certainly didn’t look that young when I knew him.” His eyes were sly, narrow, as he handed Iris one of the glasses. 

There it was; Iris felt an angry snort of hot breath on the back of her neck, making the shorn hairs there stand on end. She shot Asra a look, a smirk curling up on her lips. It was working already. 

With an arch of his shapely eyebrows, he climbed into the bed, gracefully scooting to the head, and beckoned Iris to join him. With a final squeeze of Julian’s hand, she crawled in carefully, sure not to upend her wine glass. The mattress shifted behind her as Julian sat at her side; she turned back to look at him as he stretched his long body out, the robe falling away from his chest, revealing the thick swatch of dark hair, firm valley giving way to the still-damp skin of his stomach. He took a graceful sip of wine, the deep color staining his lips; he let out a soft but deep moan, just as they had scripted. 

“I had forgotten how good Sonnet Lore tastes...especially when no one is yapping about the blackberry undertones, the sensual texture.” That penultimate word, Julian practically spit out of his mouth in disgust. “Iris, you have to try it.” He gestured for her to drink, his one eye heavy and lidded as he surveyed her. Iris’s heart skipped a beat; he was an incredible actor. 

She brought the drink to her lips as Asra slowly snaked his hand around her waist; out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nadia sinking to the bed on his other side, the final piece of the seductive buffet. Iris didn’t need to play-act a groan of pleasure as she sipped the red wine; it was delicious, thick and voluptuous on her tongue, finishing with a thick burst of deep cherry flavor in the back of her throat that sent a shiver of delight down her spine. 

“It’s delicious, isn’t it?” Asra said, unloosing the knot that held her robe together, pulling the fabric apart to reveal the lace and velvet underneath. She could feel his breath hot on her neck as he pulled her in closer to him, guiding and lowering her head to rest on his lap, his robe parting to reveal a thick stroke of damp amber skin on his thigh. She looked up at him; he was staring down at her tenderly, full lips parted, his gorgeous features painted with a look of naked lust that Iris wasn’t completely sure was an act.

Beside her, Julian turned and rested on his side, taking another sip of his wine, his eye gliding over the familiar swells of her body, now clothed in delicate lace, sumptuous velvet. A little distance away, Nadia watched this whole scene curiously, letting her own robe fall open a little, revealing the inner swell of a perky breast. 

“You know...” Asra began, his voice rich and honeyed. “The four of us, we weren’t always miserable. We had good times here in the palace. Even here, in this room.” 

“We did?” Nadia said, her eyes wide. 

“We did.” The magician’s eyes were sparkling now, as his free hand stroked Iris’s hair. “You, me, Ilya, Iris...even Lucy, when he wasn’t being a pain in the ass. We had fun together.” He smirked at this, letting the implications hang heavily in the air. Iris felt a stirring of oppressive heat against her bare skin, and she suppressed a shudder. 

“I have no memory of this.” Nadia drew a little closer to the three of them, garnet eyes glittering conspiratorially. “But I can imagine it very clearly. Tell me...how did we have fun together?” 

Iris had to breathe deep to quell a smirk. Nadia was a natural flirt, her long eyelashes fluttering and full, glistening lips parted playfully.

It was Julian who spoke. “When Lucy was sick and bored in bed, he demanded our company. We would do all sorts of things to entertain him...read to him, wonders, magic tricks. Iris would sing, we’d perform, but he was never much for music. He much preferred...other forms of amusement. He was especially fond of games.”

Asra looked down at Iris now, his violet eyes dilating. “Let’s show Nadia what it used to be like.” His lips curved into a knowing smile. “Iris, you be Lucy, here in the middle. All you need to do is choose the game we play and spit out the food you don’t like.” 

The plate of fruit lifted with magic and flew into Julian’s hands. Julian selected a small bunch of red grapes and lowered them to Iris’s mouth; she plucked one off the stem slowly with her lips, letting it linger before sucking it into her mouth. There was another burst of angry heat; she felt it ruffle her hair slightly, but she ignored it. 

“What was Lucy’s favorite game?” She asked after she swallowed. She adjusted herself on Asra’s lap, stretching her back languidly, so her breasts pillowed up a little against the lace that constrained them, and more of her body slipped out of the folds of her robe. She got no small amount of pleasure seeing Julian blush when he saw that all that was covering her vulva was lace. 

“Hmm...I’d have to say truth or dare.” Asra said slyly. “He always wanted to play it with Ilya and me.”

“Then...Julian, truth or dare.” Iris’s brows arched at him playfully as he lowered another grape into her mouth. For the first time, Iris heard a sound, like a feeble shriek of frustration from a faraway corner of the room. She wanted to dart her eyes to Asra, to confirm that he heard it also, but she didn’t break character.

“Truth.” Julian murmured, gaze flitting to Asra. 

“What’s your favorite part of a woman’s body?” Asra asked, his eyes narrowed playfully. 

Iris started a little. That wasn’t in the script. Besides her, Julian snorted. “Do you mean...besides the obvious?” 

Iris laughed loudly, unable to help herself; she saw Nadia tittering out of the corner of her eye. “You’re horrible. Yes, aside from...the obvious.” Iris clarified, one brow raised, rakish. 

Julian leaned forward so his face was inches from Iris’s. “I do adore a set of plush lips…” He murmured, but he dragged a long finger over her clavicle, down her breastbone, before gently cupping one of Iris’s breasts, tracing the outline of her nipple through the lace with the pads of two fingers. “But I think I’m most fond of...a generous chest.” 

Iris let her breath catch in her throat as another wail of frustration, a sweltering rush of heat, passed over her. She tried to appear like she was relaxing under Julian’s touch, but her muscles were screaming for her to bolt. The waver in her voice sounded completely natural when she turned her face to him and whispered, “Your turn.” 

Julian didn’t remove his hand, but rather continued his gentle caresses as he lifted his eyes to Nadia, who met his gaze with an amused smirk. “Nadia...truth or dare?” 

Her eyes sparkled. “Dare.” 

Julian bit his lip, and moved back slightly, resting his weight on the elbow of his unoccupied arm, his chin propped in his hand. “I dare you to kiss Iris.” 

Nadia let out an airless laugh, but leaned the distance forward over Asra, looming over Iris, before pressing her lips into hers. Iris thought the kiss would be quite innocent, but Nadia parted Iris’s lips with her tongue and pressed into her mouth, their tongues swirling; Iris could taste the Sonnet Lore on her, could feel three pairs of eyes on them, two of the gazes curious and warm, desirous, but the third, full of jealousy, oppressive and hungry, making Iris’s skin crawl.

After several heated seconds, Nadia withdrew, planting one chaste kiss on Iris’s cheek before straightening, licking her lips a little. 

There was another strained, furious groan, even louder this time, from the corner. Iris saw Nadia’s eyes widen, meeting Iris’s gaze, then flitting to Julian’s, Asra’s. Asra shifted slightly underneath Iris; she could feel his magic spiking in his veins, ready to spark. 

Nadia composed herself. “Asra...truth or dare?” 

To the observer, Asra would look as if he was having the time of his life, but Iris could see his façade was wearing thin. “Truth.” 

“What is your wildest sexual fantasy?” Nadia said, a sly smile spreading across her lips. Iris could tell she was growing uncomfortable too, her eyes betraying the strain of absorbing the oppressive aura that circled around them. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and surveyed the three of them, waiting patiently for Asra’s answer. 

“Hmmm...” Asra absentmindedly stroked Iris’s hair, tapping his lips with his other hand. “I’ve always been fascinated with the idea of making love to three people at once...provided, of course...” His eyes glittered wickedly now. “They were people I were attracted to.” 

Asra’s hand glided from his lips to Julian’s chin, pulling it towards him; Julian let out a soft groan as Asra pressed his lips to his, their mouths opening immediately so their tongues could dance. Asra’s hand in Iris’s hair trailed down the rest of her body to her sex, which he palmed, his skilled fingers tracing the familiar shape of her cleft. Iris whimpered and spread her legs, arching her back and pressing her head into Asra’s lap as Julian groped her breast harder. 

The room filled with an infernal screech and the candles sputtered out suddenly. Iris was jolted forward, into Julian’s arms; a sickening crack echoed as Asra was flung across the room, pinned against the portrait of Lucio, his horrible goat form materializing. 

_How can you NOT be attracted to that face, that perfect body, you impossible brat! Trying to fuck Noddy and Jules and your precious little fool in my bed...without me..._

Even with Lucio’s clawed hand against his throat, Asra loosed an airless laugh. Iris steeled herself and cast a ward around her, Julian, and Nadia, clutching to Julian’s shoulders as her breath grew ragged. Her heart twisted like it had been knifed as she watched Asra struggle, knowing she could do nothing to protect him without ruining their chance. Julian angled their bodies so his broad back was between her and Lucio, his chin flung over his shoulder to watch the scene in front of them with gritted teeth.

“All I see in this portrait is a man so scared of Death that he sought to crush her under his boot.” Asra spat, his voice breaking as he struggled to breathe. “It’s funny, now...you’re so scared of Death that you can’t cross over to the next realm….exactly the hell a man like you deserves.” 

_I’m NOT dead!_ Lucio bleated, his grip around Asra’s throat tightening.

Iris’s eyes flew wide, meeting Julian’s before turning back to the portrait. Asra’s brows arched, a small smile forming on his lips. 

“How’d you manage that, Lucy?” He sneered. “You were never much for following the rules.” 

There was a sound of ripping fabric as Asra’s robes were torn open, and Iris couldn’t help but jerk forward, bucking against Julian’s grip on her back, her magic flaring through her body as a ferocious animal need to protect Asra, protect Julian, protect Nadia, clawed through her. 

Suddenly, the dark room was flooded with three pinpricks of soft white light, one right in front of her face – the mark of Julian’s bargain on his throat. With a gasp, Iris whipped her head around, and saw Nadia’s mark on her forehead was glowing, too. Then, the last mark…

On Asra’s chest, right over his heart, was the same seal, the same spellwork, but almost covering his entire left breast, pulsating ominously, exactly in time with Asra’s heartbeat, with Iris’s heartbeat. 

_For someone with this, you’re awful high and mighty about following the rules. I would be alive, in that magnificent body, if all of you hadn’t bungled my ritual with your selfish backroom dealings!_

Lucio’s animal face twisted into a sneer now. _And everyone got what they wanted...Julian, his cure for the plague...Noddy, her sight...and you, the pretty fool back by your side...she must be a real sweet piece of ass…_

Asra was struggling in earnest now; soon, Iris would have to act. “And you’re trapped on the incorporeal plane...” He managed to gasp. 

Lucio’s laugh was maniacal. _You think I’m trapped? You think you’re the only one who can pass between? Even without a body, I can still do this... _

His form materialized fully, completely solid now, pressing his clawed hand even more firmly into Asra’s throat. 

_And this isn’t even my final form...I’m not yet complete...but soon…_

The color was draining from Asra’s face now, but he shot a look at Iris to stay back. Iris grit her teeth ferociously into a sneer before shouting, “You’re a coward, Lucy!”

Lucio wheeled around, letting Asra’s body drop to the floor with a nauseating thud, his red eyes blazing as his lips curled into a wild snarl. 

_You...how dare you call me a coward? After the fucking hell I've been through, because of your sweet little boyfriend..._

He reached one clawed finger through her ward as if it were a soap bubble, roughing pushing Julian out of the way before running his fingers down her cheek. She gasped as her skin surged with unbearable heat; she thought she was going to ignite, be consumed alive. His glowing red eyes roved over her body, swathed in the lingerie he’d given her, and they surged brightly with animal lust.

_You always were a stubborn little slut...hopping from Asra’s bed to Jules’ s while the sheets were still warm, leading Noddy around by a string on your pinky...yet you always refused me…I could have Noddy and Jules and countless others whenever I wanted, yet all I dreamed of was you…_

He laughed airlessly, and pulled away, making Iris slump forward in relief, her shoulders trembling, hands shaking wildly. She felt as if all the magic, the energy, the blood, had been drained from her body. 

You’ll see soon, pretty little fool. Everything I’ve gained. Until then…don’t you forget me…

He disappeared, and all the warmth was sucked out of the room, leaving chilly silence, broken only by Asra gasping for air in a heap on the floor. It was Julian who sprung into action, rushing to Asra’s side, placing his hand on Asra’s back and talking in low, soothing tones, the mark on his neck glowing.

Iris couldn’t move, even as she watched Asra regain his breath, the mark on his chest still pulsing white, though fading now in intensity. Her nerves sizzled, her muscles were frozen, her heart was pounding wildly in her chest. Her voice creaked uselessly in her throat as she lowered her head slowly between her knees and touched her temples. Her head seared as if the top of it had been sliced off. 

It was Nadia whose hands smoothed over her shoulders. “Let’s get you out of here, Iris.” She whispered, helping her off the bed and to her feet. Julian was now pulling Asra up, one of the magician’s arms slung over his broad shoulders for support. The four of them exited the bedchamber, their victory feeling more like a defeat with each step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _MOC: ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooof. _
> 
> _This was definitely written before we got names for Julian and Portia's parents, don't @ me. _
> 
> _See you in part 2. _


	11. Wheel of Fortune, Part 2: It All Catches Up To Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Silversun Pickups - Panic Switch // the National - Guilty Party **
> 
> _ CW: Sexual harassment, unwanted touching, forced voyeurism, discussion of MCD, discussion of noncon/ambicon _

When Iris opened her eyes with a panicked jolt, it was pitch black, dead silent, hot. Summer’s dry heat had returned with a fierceness – Iris could smell the palace gardens, the blooms confused, mums and marigolds budding alongside the late-summer dahlias, the coneflowers, the chrysanthemums, startled back to life. 

It unsettled her, this sudden, unnatural heat, like the warning smell of the sky before a storm, her nerves sparking with a sizzling dread that she couldn’t explain, one that kept her heart racing, her muscles twitching. She remembered tossing and turning, kicking the sheets off, Asra murmuring in his slumber as she tried to relax, ease into sleep. She wondered when she had finally nodded off, her dreams fitful, feverish things, swirling, streaking colors, frantic whispered voices, startling her awake again. 

With a resigned sigh, Iris sat up, fingers twining through her long hair, coiled loosely on the crown of her head in an effort to stave off the heat – her robe was twisted around her, the lace slip underneath sticky with sweat. Sleep was not in the stars for her tonight, she knew. With a soft kiss to Asra’s temple, his cheek, his bare shoulder, she stood and let her feet lead her to the gardens. 

The lanterns that dotted the manicured paths were kept lit all night now; sleeplessness was its own plague in the palace, as the months dragged on and no cure emerged, as the city deteriorated beneath them. Iris wasn’t the only bleary-eyed ghost who searched for dreams in these gardens – more than once, Iris had found Julian wandering the labyrinth, his fingertips stained with ink – he offered Iris pulls from a glass flask of spiced rum while they passed the time, chatting, drifting, stargazing. The guard, Lilava, four months pregnant, crying silently at the lip of the fountain, terrified for her child’s future – the second time they met, Iris gave her a charm for easy passage earthside, not quite certain it would protect her child from the plague. Once, Nadia herself, under the trellis in the lavender field; that night had ended with Iris in the Countess’s chambers, the two of them drunk into a stupor on Gentle Noble. 

But tonight, Iris saw no one as she slipped into the labyrinth, her fingers trailing along the silky tongues of leaves. She let her robe flutter open, trail behind her like a veil as she took turn after turn after turn – she knew the way by heart now, knew several ways, truthfully, to the fountain of Capricorn. This, this helped, she thought, the careful meditation of walking, the grass under her feet, the slipping of satin against her bare legs. She let her lids drop closed, let her head roll back on her neck, let her intuition lead her – her mind was quieting as the not-silence of night crept through her, the muddle of flowers and the living scent of running water – 

Something lightning-hot blinked through her, a sharp knowing, and she wheeled around, eyes wide, just as a hand wrapped around her shoulder, a glinting claw under her chin; she was jerked backwards, her ankle twisting as she stumbled into a half-bare chest, nostrils flooding with the overwhelming stench of sandalwood and peppercorn. 

“Look who I found, wandering my gardens.” Lucio’s smirk was animal, all his sharp teeth showing as he stooped towards Iris, jerking her chin upward. “Can’t sleep either, pretty fool?” 

Iris tried to jerk away, heart hammering, but Lucio’s arm tightened around her, his claws tugging dangerously against the skin of her neck, not enough to break the skin, but enough to warn her, to set the alarms in her head wailing. He was too strong. “Where do you think you’re going?” He crooned, a needled edge to his voice now. 

“Let me go, Lucy.” Iris hissed, desperately leaning away from him, but he jerked her face back, forcing her to meet his gaze, his terrifying bloodied eyes; his makeup was smeared, from sleep, from sweat, but the skin underneath them was faintly purple, like he, too, had been tossing and turning, riddled with guilt, with anxiety, with helplessness – but Iris knew that couldn’t be true. 

“Once again, you forget your place.” Lucio practically growled, the tips of his claws just catching as he trailed them down to her chest – she blushed furiously as he glanced down, his fearsome hand resting on her sternum, just above the swell of her breasts. “I had so hoped you’d be wearing the gray lace, though satin suits you.” 

“Stop it.” Iris’s voice was high and pinched now, and she tried again to wrench herself away, her heart squeezed painfully in her tight chest, but Lucio’s grip grew bruising, his smile wolfish. 

“Oh, come now, little fool.” He purred. “I know what kind of magic you can work. Asra’s over the moon for you, Noddy hangs on your every word. Even Jules…” his voice trailed off, his eyes trailing ever downward before snapping up to hers again. “And what am I supposed to do, with you parading around in front of me, looking like that? In your lingerie, no less?” 

“I said let go!” Iris hissed, her magic sparking wildly as blistering pressure seethed from her, forcing Lucio back – she made to turn, to flee, but with a yelp, she sank to the shorn grass, her rolled ankle throbbing. 

Lucio chuckled, cold, cruel, and knelt in front of her, surveying her as she tried not to cry out in pain. “You are such a curious thing, little fool.” He mused. “Why do you refuse me? Any number of the idiots at court would slit someone’s throat for the chance to bed me.”

“I’ve seen what you’ve done. What you are.” Iris spat. 

Lucio’s brow twitched, his expression unreadable. “And what am I, Iris?” 

She sneered. “A monster.” 

Lucio laughed now, wildly, and Iris’s heart nearly stopped at the sound. “You know nothing of monsters, Iris.” He leaned into her now, and Iris froze as his lips brushed against her ear. “Everyone you know, everyone you supposedly love...they’re monsters, too. You would curdle to know the things your master has done. Jules. Noddy. Everyone.” 

He let out one voiceless laugh, his breath hot against her skin. “But they’re scared of their power; I’m not. The things I could show you, Iris...” He made a sound now, a grunt, a growl, a dove’s cry, and Iris’s eyes widened in horror as she realized his human hand was snaked down his rumpled leisure pants, tugging, tugging. 

“I would treat you so good, make you come so hard you forget Asra’s name, your own name, I’d have you begging for me to take you every night, every morning, every moment in between, leave you raw, leave you weak...and I would, oh, anything to hear you scream my name...but for now...” His eyes grew lidded, lacquered lashes fluttering as he moaned gently. “Run, pretty fool, like the frightened little rabbit you are.” 

Iris didn’t register what he’d said until he was leaning away from her, his chin lowered, his eyes hazy as he watched her, shoulders shaking slightly. Then she was scrambling away, he was pumping furiously now, his voice ragged in his throat as she turned, staggering, tearing through the maze, no breath in her lungs, tears fiery on her flushed face as he cried sharply into the night –

*******

When Iris awoke, she was alone, save for Vasalisa alert at her feet, green eyes wary and watchful; the bedsheets were tangled around her as if she had slept fitfully, her dreams troubled. She sat up, and surveyed the guest room, the light streaming through turning pinker and duskier with each passing second – the sun was setting. It must be close to dinner time.

Iris rubbed her eyes with her palms; she had nearly slept the entire day away. She barely remembered Nadia catching her by the shoulders as she collapsed to her knees in the hallway outside of Lucio’s wing, or Julian scooping her up in his arms and carrying her here to her bed in the guest wing, or Asra running his fingers softly through her hair as she fell asleep with her head in his lap. She rubbed her neck and shoulders, massaging out a kink from sleeping on her stomach rather than her back – she was still wearing the white satin robe, the gray teddy. Her stomach turned, and her head throbbed, though it wasn’t nearly as bad as it was this morning after Lucio had touched her. 

She swallowed sharply, her throat dry and bright with bile. Lucio had broken through her ward as if it were nothing at all, when just three days ago she had been able to repel him. He was growing stronger, and rapidly. Whatever was bolstering him, buoying him into the corporeal world...they had to find it, and fast. 

The door slid open, making Iris jump; Asra stepped across the sill, Faust wound around his shoulders, the door snapping shut behind him. He looked exhausted, his neck bowed, his eyes dark. He cast his gaze over Iris; his eyes lit up when he saw her staring back at him. 

With a relieved sigh, he crossed the room and knelt at the edge of the bed, taking Iris’s hands in his, kissing her fingertips. “Good morning, sleeping beauty.” He murmured through his kisses. “You slept so long I thought you might never wake up.” 

Iris smiled weakly. “I’m awake now.” She shifted over in the bed, and Asra laid down next to her, wrapping his arms around her as she placed her head on his chest. 

His heartbeat filled her ears, the soft thumping in perfect time with the flush of heat through her veins, the pulse of blood and magic that kept her alive. Her stomach dropped; gingerly, she slid her hands up his chest, letting her fingers trace the space where the mark of the bargain had glowed on him just hours before. 

“Is this what the Magician meant?” She asked him softly. “About you playing god?” 

Asra’s eyes darkened. “I didn’t expect Lucio to know about it.” 

Iris pressed her lips together. “You didn’t answer my question.” 

Asra sighed heavily. “I imagine so.” He paused, searching for words. “I don’t remember the bargain I made, but I made it in part with the Magician.”

Iris looked puzzled. “What do you mean, you don’t remember?” 

Asra’s eyes were dreamy as he considered his answer. “I’m missing some memories too, particularly around the last masquerade. The night Lucio died, and the nights leading up to it, are all very hazy. I figured...with the amount of magic I was doing, with everything that was happening at the palace...it made sense.” 

Iris frowned a little. “But what did the Magician mean by playing god?’ 

Asra looked so, so tired. “I was...I was trying to bring you back. I must have succeeded by hijacking Lucio’s ritual...whatever it was.” 

Iris sat up, her eyes flying over his face, her mouth wide as she faltered, uncomprehending, even as she finally put two and two together. Three years ago, she awoke, and he was the first thing she saw. Right around the time Lucio died, during the last masquerade. “..._You_ brought me back? Why?”

Asra’s face crumpled, his expression so pained that Iris thought she would break in two. He opened his mouth to speak several times, before he found the words to explain. “I was so lost without you, Iris. You were made of light. That time...was so dark for me. I...” He made to wrap his arms around her, but she recoiled, falling backwards onto her elbows and reeling away from him.

“So you brought me back from the realm of the dead? Ripped me out of Death’s arms?” Iris’s breath caught in her throat; she couldn’t keep her lips from lifting into a grimace of disbelief. “And you don’t know at what cost? How long had I been dead? Is this even my body?” 

“Iris...” Asra’s eyes searched her, the beginning of tears forming in the corner of his eyes. “I...I couldn’t go on knowing...knowing what I did...the choices I made...” 

“And what was that, Asra?” Anger was rising in Iris’s chest now. “I don’t remember, because I don’t have my _memories_. Which you’ve kept from me. Would you have returned the lacquered box to me if I hadn’t found it, or would you have let Muriel keep it from me until I died..._again_?” 

“Iris–!” Asra cried, his voice choked, but she cut him off. 

“No, listen to me! _You_ made the choice to bring me back. You made the choice to keep my memories from me, to erase them when I regained them. You’re keeping Julian’s memories from him, by the Gods, even though the Magician warned you it was time to return them! You wiped Portia’s memory without flinching. You went and found Julian for me, without asking me if that was what I wanted.” She felt tears falling down her face. “You keep trying to protect me, protect Julian, but who are you protecting, really, and from what? What are you afraid of?” 

He reached out and grasped both of her hands; they were shaking. “Iris…please...” He bit his lip as tears surged down his cheeks, his beautiful face. “I only said I loved you once before... I couldn’t...I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t bear to live without you.” 

Iris wrenched her hands away cruelly, furious now. “And when have you ever said you loved me since you brought me back? Said anything about us, what we are?” 

Heat rose in Asra’s cheeks, his lips parted in confusion. “Iris, I couldn’t...whenever I did, it brought your memories back, and I couldn’t put you through that pain. I had to satisfy myself with holding you in the night, and hope it was enough...” His cheeks were soaked with tears now. “And I don’t want you to feel constrained by me, controlled by me...I don’t have to be your only lover–” 

“Don’t you see, Asra?” Iris wiped her tears away, sinking down on her heels. “You are controlling me! By keeping the truth from me...by making decisions for me...” She was sobbing now. “How can I be my own if I’m relying on you for everything? My memories...my past...my power...” She looked down at her trembling hands, remembering how Asra had to teach her everything, how to talk, how to eat, how to use her magic, all those years ago, when he had first… resurrected her... 

Her body shook from crying; after a moment’s hesitation, his own tears still rolling down his cheeks, Asra gently touched her shoulders. “Can I hold you?” He asked quietly. Her lips trembled, but she nodded slowly. His warmth, his familiar scent, enveloped her as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and she buried her face into the silk of his shirt. 

His lips brushed against her ear, his voice coming to her in a whisper. “I love you, Iris. I brought you back because I love you. You are a brilliant, beautiful light in my life. You are all I see.”

Iris sobbed loudly. “I love you too, Asra...but we can’t...we can’t stay this way...we can’t continue like this...” 

“I know.” Asra said quietly. “I know.” 

They cried together as they held each other, wiping the tears from each other’s faces, planting soft kisses on the other’s cheeks, jaw, neck. When Iris finally composed herself, Asra pulled away, his eyes pleading.

“I haven’t been completely honest with you. I’m sorry.” Asra said. “Forgive me. I...” He swallowed. “I just wanted to protect you.” 

Iris’s lip trembled again. “I’ll always forgive you.” She pushed a long, wild curl out of his eyes tenderly. “It may take me a while to get there, but I’ll forgive you. But you...we have to stop this, Asra. I won’t...I can’t...”

He took his hands in hers, turned his shining eyes to hers. “Be my partner, Iris.” He whispered. “In mind...in body...in heart...” He kissed her hands, his lips lingering over her skin. “I won’t move without you. The decisions that affect both of us...we’ll make them together. It may...it may take me some time to get it right. But Iris...” 

His eyes glowed as he looked deep into hers. He was so handsome, so earnest, that Iris wanted to cry again. “You are too precious for me to lose again. I want to be by your side, no matter what. I want you to be happy. I want to make you happy.” 

“That’s not your job.” Iris whispered, her fingers tracing his jaw. She stood up on her knees, grasping both of his hands in hers. “Only I can make myself happy. But you can love me. You can let me be my own, love my wildness, treat me as an equal – not as someone to protect, to make anything, but as someone to cherish while I’m in your arms. We’ll be together – we’ll move together, watching out for each other, but not as one – as two, each reinforcing the other.” 

“Yes.” He breathed. “Yes, my wild heart, yes.” 

They kissed, at first tender and sweet, their lips lingering over each other, but slowly, their kiss grew passionate, their breath becoming hot and quick as they pressed into each other. Asra wrapped his hands around Iris’s waist and slowly lowered her back onto the bed, and they became wild together, their tongues caressing and melting into one another as they shared their heat. When Iris finally pulled away, it was only because she needed to breathe. 

She looked deep into Asra’s eyes, and saw that he had done away with his inscrutability charm. She gasped, as she, for the first time since they met so many years ago, looked into him; his love for her flooded her, overtook her. It was bright, and pure, and full of pain, restrained, just as she had felt in the Magician’s realm. She saw all the ways he looked at her when she wasn’t aware of it, all the secret angles of her face, the unguarded expressions and moues of concentration, of daydreaming. She saw the intimate parts of her body that he loved, the sloping softness of her arms, the way her cheek pressed into her shoulder when she slept on her side, the dimples on her back just above the place where her hips swelled, her elegant hands as she held a book, brushed her hair away from her face. She heard her own laughter, saw her smile wrapped around a private joke, saw the way her eyes lit up when they fell upon his face, upon Julian’s. She felt the pride that swelled in him when she did magic, even the smallest spells and charms, the fierceness of his desire when she was in his arms.

Iris ached with wanting as she returned to him, her tears coming to her again. Asra kissed her neck, his breath soft on her skin. “I won’t hide anything from you anymore.” He murmured. “I’ll answer your questions. I’ll let you in, as best I can. I won’t run from it; I promise you this.” 

“Oh, Asra...” Iris breathed, pulling him closer to her, guiding his lips back to hers. 

They kissed for a very long time, as the last of the pink and gold light faded from the room and dusk dropped its heavy curtain around them, filling the room with soft night magic. It was only when Asra’s fingers ghosted over the lace that covered her breasts that Iris pulled away, her brows furrowed. She had forgotten that she was still wearing the bodysuit. 

“Did Lucio give this to me?” She asked quietly. “Is that why you had me wear it today?” 

Asra nodded sadly. “Right after the first time you performed for him, he gifted this to you.” He snorted softly now at the memory. “He requested you wear it the next time you sang for him privately. I wanted to burn it, but you...” A proud smile flitted across his face. “You wore it for me. We reclaimed it. You even taunted him with it – you wrote a note thanking him, hinting at what you and I did in it. He was furious.” He touched the velvet over her ribs now, cupping his hands around her curves. “I didn’t think I would ever see you in it again.” 

Soft, small memories flitted across Iris’s eyes; the lingerie in a sumptuous, blood red box, her running her hands over it, the fury that rose up in her – but also the mischief, the power she felt as she tried it on, the way Asra looked at her in, her and Asra laughing together as she wrote the note, her wearing it, sitting in his naked lap as he grew hard beneath her...

“What were you thinking of when you saw me in it today?” She asked coyly, her brows raised a little. 

Asra met her gaze, his full lips curling into an impish smile. “Do you want to see?” 

With a twinkle of her eyes, she plunged into him again – she saw him slipping the robe off of her shoulders, his gaze roving over her curves, him kissing every inch of her; she saw him pushing aside the lace of the crotch and running his tongue hungrily up the length of her dripping cunt; she saw her on top of him, her body on display, her hands on his chest, her head thrown back in ecstasy as she gyrated her hips against his, his hands all over her…

He kissed the hills of her breasts now, running his tongue over the place where lace met soft skin, making Iris hum at the sensation, while his hands ran up and down her sides. His kisses ran lower and lower and lower on her body, until he was licking the seams that cut across the creases of her hips. Iris couldn’t help but squirm as he grew closer and closer to her vulva, his breath hot and the slip from his tongue drying cool on her sensitive skin. 

He paused over her sex; suddenly, he wrapped his hands around her hips, pulled her to the edge of the bed and knelt in front of her, spreading her legs wide before running his tongue over the lace that covered her. A tender moan of pleasure rose up from his throat as wetness, sweetness coated his tongue – Iris’s desire had already soaked through. She arched her back and rolled her hips forward a little, begging for him to touch her skin, but Asra ignored her with a knowing, teasing smile, kissing the lace over and over and over again, gently running his hands up and down her thighs, before two skilled fingers traced her folds and gently pushed the bodysuit to the side. 

Iris hummed when she felt the cool night air on her skin, but Asra still did not give her what she wanted – he thoroughly enjoyed teasing her, kissing and nipping the insides of her thighs, running his tongue around her lips without touching them, kneading the sweet swells of her hips. When he finally ran the flat of his tongue up the entire length of her sex, parting her, she groaned loudly, hotly, making him smile against her tender skin. 

“I love the way you taste...the sounds you make, my heart...” He murmured before circling his tongue around her clit, gently flicking it with each pass. He was so skillful with her; he knew exactly what she wanted and was patient with her body, with her pleasure, what to say to get her hot and writhing underneath him. He ran his tongue back down her length, exploring the place where she opened, slipping inside of her. She arched her back and whimpered as he pressed into her several times, licking deep into her warmth, before dragging his tongue back up to her clitoris and sucking gently. 

Her legs twitched and she moaned loudly again as sparks fluttered across her vision, pleasure arcing through her. He kept suckling her, his tongue flitting over her with each movement of his lips, his fingers now massaging the insides of her thighs, urging her legs even further apart. Iris pushed his hair back out of his eyes, and he gazed up at her through half-closed lids, his stare dreamy, full of wonder, pupils dilating at the sight of her pleasure. A surge of affection flooded her as another wave of bliss broke over her; she arched her back and threw her head back, focusing on the sensation of his touches. 

He changed his tactic yet again, pressing the flat of his tongue against her, over and over, slowly but firmly; Iris cried out, panting now as the he guided her closer and closer to orgasm. “P-please...” She whimpered, tugging gently on his hair. “Just like that...Asra...” 

He increased his speed and pressure slightly, another soft groan crossing his lips; a few minutes of this was all Iris needed for the heat of orgasm to swell in her belly. She bucked her hips softly against Asra’s mouth as she came, and he gripped her thighs tightly and slowed his pace as her cries gave way to soft laughter, her pleasure intense and sweet. 

Once her breath leveled, Asra crawled back onto the bed over her and planted a kiss on her cheek; she wrapped her arms around him, and made to kiss him back, to pull him into her, but he smiled a little sheepishly. “I wanted to please you. I don’t need anything in return.” He murmured against her cheek. 

Iris kissed him anyway, her tongue slipping into his mouth, pulling his breath from him, her head still spinning from orgasm. They kissed for a long while, but eventually, Iris let Asra pull away. They repositioned on the bed so Iris could lay fully, and Asra laid his head on her breast, his ear on her chest, listening to her heartbeat as it settled. 

They were still for a moment as they laid in each other’s arms. Iris broke the silence, her voice a little strained: “Lucy was so much stronger this time, Asra.”

He nodded softly against her chest. “I know. I wasn’t expecting him to be that powerful. He must… whatever is keeping him in this realm must be strengthening with each passing day.” 

“What are we going to do?” Iris asked, her voice shaking a little. She remembered his horrible clawed hand breaching her ward, stroking her cheek, wrapped around her neck in her dream – she thought of the color draining from Asra’s face as those same hands pinned him to the portrait. She shuddered. 

She could feel Asra’s soft, sighing breaths against the exposed skin of her chest. “We know there was a failed ritual. We know that ritual separated him from his body, that his body was consumed. That… might be enough to get us started.” 

Iris’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?” 

“We know the ritual involved communing with the Arcana. And it involved multiple Arcana, because Lucio appealed to the Devil, but I made my bargain with the Magician. And I’d bet you that Nadia’s was with the High Priestess.” 

Iris sat up a little. “What makes you say that?” 

“If Nadi tried to unlock her sight, as Lucio said, she would have appealed to her patron Arcana, the one that rules intuition and the unseen world – the High Priestess.” Asra gently stroked Iris’s cheek. “If only...” 

“If only what?” Iris asked. 

“I had an old book of rituals involving the Arcana, but it walked off on me years ago. I can’t remember where I had it last...I’m afraid so much time has passed that it’s lost to the ether. It might have the answers we need.” 

“Could there be a copy in the library?” Iris wondered. 

Asra’s eyes fluttered open. “Maybe...Nadia had an extensive collection of arcane history and spellbooks ordered for the magicians who served during the plague.” 

“We should look there, then.” Iris said, running a hand absentmindedly through Asra’s pillowy hair. Her next question caught in her throat; it was difficult to form. 

“Asra...Lucy said he could have Julian any time he wanted. Is that true? Were they...were they lovers?” 

Asra’s eyes darkened. “It wasn’t like that. He had leverage over Ilya. Just like he had leverage over Muriel...over me.” 

The blood in Iris’s veins ran cold; she stared at Asra, her eyes wide and her mouth open. Her lungs refused to work. “He used that leverage to… to make Julian sleep with him?” 

“Yes.” Asra’s voice was so leaden with hatred that the blood that pumped through Iris felt heavy and poisonous, like quicksilver. “It was after I left. I didn’t know until after I took Ilya’ s memories.” 

Iris sat up; Asra sat up with her, meeting her imploring eyes. “If it was a memory you took...it was connected to me, wasn’t it?” Her heart starting racing now, blood rushing through her ears. “What was the leverage?” 

Asra placed both hands over her cheeks, pulling her face to his, his forehead resting on hers. His eyes were so pained, so doleful; he didn’t need to answer for Iris to understand. 

Her eyes welled up with tears as she clutched at Asra’s fingers. “Did I know?” 

He shook his head. “Not until the very end. When Ilya wants to, he can be meticulous; he hid it from you as best he could. You have to understand...he felt he had no choice. He thought you would hate him if you knew. He...” Asra’s voice broke. “...he was so ashamed.” 

The emotions that welled into Iris now were a dark and infinite rainbow: deep, endless sorrow; suffocating guilt; fathomless rage. “Lucio’s a monster.” She seethed, her hands shaking, her magic flaring through her body like a supernova, explosive and volatile; she could practically see her fingertips glowing, the light of her magic coursing through her veins. “I’ll kill him. I’ll bring him back myself just to tear him limb from limb.” At the foot of the bed, where Vasalisa and Faust lay curled together, there was a low ferocious growl, accompanied by a soft hiss of assent. 

“I hate him too.” Asra said quietly, his eyes fiery, his grip a little firmer on Iris’s face. “But I need you to calm yourself, Iris. Hate alone solves nothing. We need to find a way to banish him for good so he can’t hurt anyone again.” 

Iris took a deep breath; her magic still arced in her, but settled slowly. “I know. I know.” 

Asra pushed a stray lock of her hair back behind her ear. “Ilya doesn’t know. I...I know you want me to return his memories. I want that too...but I feel that now isn’t the right time. I...I missed the window.” 

Iris sighed; her intuition whispered to her that he was right. “Okay...okay.” She met his eyes earnestly. “But we need to do it soon. We’ll do it together...if that makes it easier for you.” 

Asra’s eyes warmed. “I would like that. I think Ilya would, too.” He kissed her gently. 

They were both startled by a loud rapping on the door; with only enough time for Iris to pull her robe around her waist, the door slid open. The first thing to enter was a cart, covered in a long white cloth, laden with several silver cloches, pushed by Portia, who was dressed for dinner in a simple sapphire-colored shift. Right behind her was Julian, who snapped the door shut behind them. Iris’s heart jumped a little to see him dressed in the fantastically embroidered suit from one of the first memories she regained, worn with a white silk shirt, unbuttoned as low as decorum would allow. 

His eye fell on Iris and Asra on the bed, and Iris thought she might cry when it lit up with relief. He crossed the room to sit next to Iris on the bed, pressing a soft kiss into her cheek. “Welcome back to the land of the living.” He murmured. Iris’s heart jolted, her wide eyes flying over his face, searching, but she quickly realized he was talking about her long slumber. 

If he noticed anything off, he didn’t let on; he placed the back of his cool hand on her forehead, checking her temperature. “You both missed dinner – Nadia sent it up.” He said quietly. “Asra, she requested you join us in the ballroom; Iris, I’m sure she’d be delighted it if you joined us, too, if you’re feeling up to it. She would like some company entertaining her sisters.” 

“Sisters?” Iris mused, her brows furrowed as Julian checked her pulse now, two long fingers pressed gently against the soft muscle of her neck; she blushed a little, remembering the heat of the memory she’d regained in Muriel’s hut. He smirked, tossing a playful look back at Portia, who was setting their dinner out at the small table in the room. She glowered at Julian a little, her lips pushed into a pout. 

“_Someone_ invited all 6 Prakran Princesses to the masquerade. Without our dear friend the Countess’s permission.” Julian explained, chuckling a little. “She was quite surprised when three of her sisters showed up this afternoon.” 

Portia cut in to defend herself, as Julian planted another kiss on Iris’s cheek, satisfied with her vitals. “She’d just woken up, and I promised Nazali I would reach out to them as soon as there was a change in her health. We started corresponding...and I let it slip that Nadia was holding another masquerade. They practically invited themselves.” She heaved a sigh. “It’s for the best. No one should be separated from their family for that long, self-imposed or not.” 

Julian smarted a little at that, and Portia realized what she had said, heat rising to her freckled cheeks. Asra graciously broke the awkward silence. 

“Ilya, I’m guessing your interview with Nadia went well?” He said, his brows raised. 

Julian smirked, shrugging a little. “It wasn’t much of an interview, with neither of us remembering much of that time. It was basically an excuse to drink a bottle of Golden Goose.” He laughed lightly, running his long fingers through his wavy hair. “I’d forgotten how hard that stuff punches.” 

Iris snorted, and wound her arm around Julian’s waist, resting her cheek on his shoulder. She breathed in his familiar, heavy scent, and her heart ached for him. The memories he was missing...so many of them were painful, excruciating even. Returning them would not be easy; she understood now why Asra had been so reluctant. 

Julian placed his hand on her shoulder, pulling her a little closer to him, kissing her hair. “You should eat. You barely had breakfast.” He murmured.

It was true...all Iris could get down this morning was that one cup of coffee, nervous as she was; as if on cue, her stomach growled. Julian chuckled, his breath ruffling her hair; Iris saw a small, playful smile pull on the corners of Asra’s lips. 

Portia lifted the cloches; Iris’s brows furrowed, not recognizing the food underneath as she stood and approached. The smell that wafted to her nose was reminiscent of seafood, with something buttery and creamy, a hint of spice, but what she saw on the plate looked like a tangle of women’s hair, impossibly thin noodles that were blonde in color, coated in an orangish-red sauce and sprinkled with finely chopped herbs. 

Julian noticed her confusion. “It’s pasta.” He explained. “They’re noodles, but made from a variety of wheat that’s only cultivated in Umbria. It’s expensive to import… you don’t see it much outside of the region, but it’s a staple there.” 

Asra smiled beside Iris, kissing her neck encouraging. “You’ll love it. It’s practically Umbrian bread.” 

Iris raised her brows as she sat slowly in the chair, sniffing deeply. It smelled divine, and she was starving. “I do love bread...” 

Asra laughed, sitting across from her as Portia uncloched a salad of vinegar-dressed greens and a bottle of Gentle Noble white wine. “Iris, if you’d like to join Nadia in the ballroom, I can have Ami and Primula bring up a dress.” 

“Um...yes, I think I’d like that.” Iris smiled warmly at Portia while watching Asra carefully as he spun the long noodles around on his fork, mimicking his movements on her own plate of food. When she drew her fork away, it was covered in a slippery, dripping tangle. Tentatively, she drew it to her mouth. 

For a moment, the texture confused her, the noodles’ smoothness and slickness, before their hidden silkiness burst forth. They tasted comforting, very slightly eggy and bready, neither disappearing nor masking the flavor of the sauce, which was creamy, spicy, and briney, spiked with succulent pieces of lobster. She set her fork down with a clink, and groaned with delight. 

“It’s even better than bread...” She hummed, her eyes fluttering closed as she savored the taste.

Asra snickered, pouring her and himself a glass of the wine, his eyes dancing teasingly. “Just what Nadia needs, another guest with expensive tastes.” His eyes darted playfully to Julian, who was lounging on the bed. Julian’s smile was wicked as he shrugged nonchalantly. 

“Nadia asked what I wanted; I told her lobster. It’s cheaper than lapsang souchang, anyway, which the kitchen seems to be stocked to the gills with.” He arched his eyebrows knowingly.

Asra snorted. “By the ounce, maybe...” 

Iris smiled, enjoying watching the two of them bicker pleasantly as she did her best not to inhale the delicious dish in front of her. Behind her, Portia watched the three of them carefully, her eyes darting between them, her brows raised curiously. She opened her mouth once to say something, but thought better of it. She let her hand rest on Iris’s shoulder for a moment, squeezing gently once. 

“I’ll send up that dress. I’ll see all three of you in a bit.” She curtsied, then bustled out of the room. 

Iris took a sip of her wine as she watched Portia leave through the corner of her eye; the Gentle Noble was rich and sweet, the perfect acidic complement to cut through the richness of the pasta’s sauce. Her eyes fluttered to Julian, taking in his reclining form; she noticed his breath was a little ragged. 

“Julian...are you okay?” She tried to keep the concern out of her voice, but she heard the soft waver as her voice lifted. 

Julian looked confused, one eyebrow arched, but Iris saw one of his graceful hands gingerly, absentmindedly, trace the curve of his own ribcage. Asra glanced back at him, and, seeing this gesture, Julian’s confusion, his expression softened. 

“Lucio fractured two of my ribs with that throw earlier today. Ilya healed them for me after you passed out.” Asra’s voice was warm, grateful. 

Julian reddened a little. “It’s nothing...ribs just take longer to heal completely. That’s all.” 

Iris smiled, her brows softly turned; she fought the tremble of her lips. “Thank you, Julian.” He blushed deeply now, but said nothing; Asra’s hand found Iris’s, squeezing gently, a small, sad smile crossing his lips.

Asra and Iris finished their meal in relative silence as Julian nearly dozed off; Iris had just set down her fork when there was a gentle knock at the door. 

“Come in.” Asra called; it was Ami and Primula who entered. If they were surprised to see two men in Iris’s room, they didn’t let on. Ami hung a long dress on the hook on Iris’s changing screen, along with a fine costume for Asra, while Primula cleared the table. Gently, Iris touched her wrist. 

“I wanted to thank you for all your help.” Iris smiled kindly as Primula’s hazel eyes fell on her. “I don’t have many memories of my time at the palace, and I apologize that I don’t remember you. But I am so grateful for you and your sister.” 

For the first time, Primula spoke to Iris. “Of course, miss Iris. Thank you.” She blushed a little; when her sister said nothing further, Ami jumped in. 

“We do remember you, Iris. You were a light in the Countess’s life, and a kindness to all of us. Everyone was so very grateful for you. It...it’s lovely to see you again.” Her eyes darted to Asra, then to Julian. “We’re happy you’ve been well cared for in your absence from the palace.”

It was Asra’s turn to blush; Iris let go of Primula, not wanting to push them further. They both curtsied, deeply, before rushing out of the room, leaving Iris to dress and prepare herself. 

As they shut the door, Asra took Iris’s hand again. “I know you don’t remember, Iris, but those women are Nadia’s private chambermaids. They doted over you.” He stood now, crossing to the changing screen to examine the dress they left behind. Iris stood, as Asra held it out for her to see. It had diaphanous sleeves of a midnight blue, a sweetheart neckline and dark blue velvet ribbon detailing that wrapped around the bodice, with two long ribbons extending down the entire length of the white dress.

“Do you need help dressing?” Julian asked, sitting up in the bed now. Iris blushed, glancing at Asra quickly, before nodding. She slipped behind the screen, shedding her robe like sloughing a snakeskin. There was a soft rustling of cloth as Asra handed Julian her dress; when he appeared behind the screen, he blushed when he noticed that Iris was only wearing the lingerie. 

She smiled gently as she peeled the straps off and down her shoulders, and stepped a little closer to him, guiding his hands to her. He wrapped his slightly trembling fingers around the space just above her ribs and gently tugged the bodysuit down, freeing her breasts. She smiled as she leaned forward, extending her chin up to him. With a soft, hesitant inhale, he leaned forward and kissed her fully on the lips, rolling the bodysuit down further. 

They kissed, and kissed, and then Iris smiled, leaning into Julian and nestling her head under his chin – she carefully threaded her arms around his waist, careful of his ribs. “My darling.” She whispered, as Julian pulled her closer, one hand on the bare small of her back, the other between her shoulderblades. “My sweet, selfless darling.” 

Julian hummed softly, just one corner of his lips turning. “I thought I didn’t have to be good.” 

Iris smiled sadly. “I didn’t say good. I said selfless.” She looked up at him, the night sky in her eyes. “But you are good, aren’t you? Even if you don’t see it in yourself.” 

Iris felt Julian stiffen slightly – she could imagine the soft downturn of his brows, the quiet light going out of his eye. “There’s so much you don’t know, Iris.” 

Iris looked up at him – his gaze was pointed away from her, brow stormy. She brushed a wild wave away from his eye, let her fingertips linger on his cool skin. “No matter what you’ve done, darling.” She began, her voice low. “Who you are today...is good. You are good.” She craned up to nuzzle her lips against his cheekbone. “And even if you weren’t...you can always come back.” 

“Can anyone come back, Iris?” He murmured. “From anything?” 

Iris paused, her voice catching in her throat. “Of course, darling.” She kissed him now, soft, soft. “What’s gotten into you?” 

Julian shook his head, almost imperceptibly. “Hearing Lucio today...the things he said, about Asra, Nadia, me...” He sighed softly. “There’s so much I still don’t remember. What if...what if I did something horrible, something irredeemable...” 

“No, darling.” Iris shushed him softly, smoothing her hands down his arms before embracing him. “You can always come back. You can always come back to me.” 

There was a soft clinking on the other side of screen as Asra opened the jewelry box on Iris’s vanity; with a pained exhale, Iris pulled away from Julian, smiling sweetly, encouragingly at him. He kissed her once more, briefly, chastely, before helping her dress, letting her step through the delicate fabric and dexterously securing the clasps against her spine. Iris smoothed the fabric over her, the soft pleats falling naturally over her hips and thighs, swaying like water with even the tiniest of her movements; she was ready to step out, but Julian held tightly to the fabric, stooping to place one more slow, lingering kiss over the vertebrae of her neck, right where it met the slope of her shoulders. 

When they emerged from the screen, Asra was waiting, dressed in his finery, a white vest embroidered with rich gold thread and a pair of slinky harem pants, tied together with a richly embroidered and colorful belt in vibrant colors, blues and indigos and reds. In his hands, he was holding a midnight blue velvet choker, exactly the same as the ribbon detailing on Iris’s bodice, her skirt; from it, an amethyst and a sapphire dangled in a silver setting. With a small smile, he fastened it around her neck, his fingers lingering over her shoulders, squeezing very gently. 

“Beautiful, my heart.” He whispered into her ear, making her blush, soft heat spreading through her chest and hips. He slipped a hand into hers and lead her out to the hallway, Julian right behind them, graceful fingers looped around her shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _MOC: And the wheel keeps turning. _
> 
> _See you in part 3. _


	12. Wheel of Fortune, Part 3: To Be Both Free and Safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Iron & Wine - Resurrection Fern **
> 
> _ CW: No content warnings _

With Asra’s hand in Iris’s, Julian’s gloved fingers ghosting over the small of her bare back, they entered the ballroom from the balcony, one of the sweeping twin staircases that hugged the inner curves of the red glass atrium window. The ballroom was empty, save for four colorful figures crowded around the massive grand piano across from the foot of the staircase. Iris immediately recognized Nadia, whose wry eyes glanced furtively up at the three of them descending the stairs; the other sisters soon followed, and Iris nearly tripped on the stairs, their magnificence was so startling. 

The first seemed to sharpen before even turning her gaze to them, her amber eagle eyes falling on them with an enigmatic glint; if Iris hadn’t seen the playful lilt of her lips, she might have thought she disapproved. She was impossibly tall, almost as tall as Julian, her body muscular, her golden hair tied back with a tight braid, the sides shorn, practical. “These must be the magicians.” She mused as they approached, her eyes sparkling and playful, her voice deep. 

The other two Princesses turned around now; one was dripping in pearls, fiery saffron hair falling in waves over bounteous curves, swathed in turquoise, bright orange, and red satin. This Princess gasped, and immediately rushed to Iris, her fingertips trailing across the magician’s face. “You are Iris, the apprentice? Your aura is so developed, so resplendent...”

The last Princess stepped forward now, dressed in flowing pink and green robes, bedecked in an abundance of emeralds and pearls, pink asters woven into the flowing waves of her mossy green hair. She seemed a little hesitant, perhaps shy, but her beryl eyes glowed with fondness as they fell over the three of them knowingly. “We’ve heard a great many things about you from our dear Didi, Iris. I am Nasmira, the fifth Princess of Prakra.” 

She gestured to her golden-haired sister, the one with the eagle-eyes. “This is my sister Nahara, the fourth Princess.” Finally, she swept her hand towards the one who was still touching Iris’s face, her brows raised knowingly as they flitted between Asra on her one side, Julian on her left. “And this is Navra, the third Princess.” 

It was this Princess who leaned into Iris now, and whispered to her softly, privately, into her ear, “Look at you...your svadhishtana, wide open; light flows from you, and flows into you.” Navra purred. “You are a no stranger to the vibrancy of life, with not one devoted lover, but two, flanking you as you weave your rainbow webs around them.” She wiggled her eyebrows, smiling playfully, before turning to Julian, running her hands across his shoulders, tracing her fingertips across his throat, where his mark lay. 

“This must be the doctor, the branded one. Didi did not mention you were so...sensitive. So sweet, so giving. Your Vishuddha… slowly, slowly, it blooms.” Navra’s eyes glittered as she said this. Iris felt an unbidden rush of heat flow through her at the sight of such an intimate touch on her lover; Navra noticed, and noticed the way Julian tensed visibly, his eyes wide. With a small giggle, a private smile, she flitted away to touch Asra’s hand, her eyes widening at the jolt that ran through her. 

She gasped loudly, as if shocked, and Nadia heaved an exasperated sigh in Iris’s periphery. “And you must be the mentor, the magician Asra. How radiant you are, young master – your power is palpable, but it is your anahata that astounds. Such love, such serenity, such passion. Who has opened your hard heart so?” Navra wondered, gaze flitting to Julian and Iris before falling back to Asra, a gracious smile belying the amusement dancing behind his eyes. “I should love to dance with you, if you are amenable.” 

It was Nahara who spoke now. “Iris, have you been practicing? Honing your steps?” Iris was surprised at the small smile that passed across the Princess’s lips. 

“No.” She admitted. “I’m not much of a dancer.” 

“Nonsense.” Navra’s eyes glittered, turning to her again. “Dance is the body taking control from the mind. It is meditation, it is exaltation, it is freedom. It is not a question of dancer, not dancer. It is a question of letting go.” 

Nasmira laughed. “Then Nahara, Nadia and I will see to the music.” 

Behind them, Nadia tsked. “We should be focusing on decorating the hall. It will be the most populated room, and there is much to be done...” 

“Didi...” Nasmira cooed softly. “Play for us. Play for your friends. It’s been so long.” Iris was boggled when several servants appeared, each carrying an instrument; there was a vielle, a calace, a kalakua, and a vihuela, along with several others – there was even a harp, wheeled out by the towering Bludmila. Each of these instruments were placed carefully by the piano.

Nadia’s brows nearly met as her eyelashes fluttered in annoyance, and Iris thought she would protest; but she sighed, and took the vihuela, strumming it once to check its tuning before plucking out a rollicking tune that Iris didn’t recognize. Nahara’s brows rose, and she caught Nadia’s eye, who smiled playfully, joy crossing her features for the first time that night. Nasmira picked up a dabraccio; she skillfully accompanied Nadia’s deft playing with the instrument’s low and vibrant tone as Nahara started to sing. A servant handed her a booming drum, which she slung under her arm, playing in tandem with Nasmira’s bass. 

Navra whisked Asra away from Julian and Iris with a wicked wink, leaving them stock-still for a moment as the music swelled around them. Iris nearly jumped when she felt Julian’s hand skate softly around her hip; she turned her face up to his as he pulled her close, his other hand pressing into her palm, holding it up to her shoulder’s height. 

“Do you know this song?” She whispered, as he started to lead her. 

He smirked, but a flush crept across his features at their closeness. “I do. It’s an Aunamendian mountain song. Just find what feels good. Like the Princess said.” His eye flashed with a private joke, and Iris chuckled; the soft pulse of his hips against hers guided her into the beat. She traced her hand up his embroidered jacket, letting it come to rest on the firmness of his chest as she leaned into him. 

They moved together, stepping easily in time to the frolicking rhythm. Julian was clearly a practiced dancer, and his movements were gentle, natural for Iris to respond to. His smirk slowly grew into a full smile as Iris met his movements in kind, reveling in the small circles she drew with her hips, the ease of her lilting footwork, the way her legs slid against his as they danced. When he slowly spun her out, their arms fully extended, Iris saw that, despite the gentle flush across his cheeks, his eyes were aflame, not with desire, but with something more. 

Iris’s heart pounded as he pulled her close, his hand wrapping firmly around her waist before dipping her deeply, his face hovering just inches above hers. The way his hair fell out of his eyes, the silhouette the eyepatch cut across his face, the smooth curve of his lips as he smiled; Iris’s heart fluttered as he lifted her back up into his arms. 

He turned her so her back was flush with his chest, her arms crossed over her stomach. He pressed his hips a little into hers, the small pulses intensifying, and Iris smiled wickedly as she rolled her waist and shoulders in response, pushing her hips back into his, looking over her shoulder at him; they kissed, briefly, before Julian spun her back out. This time, he held her arm up high, and she danced a little on her own while he watched and rotated her, her hips, feet, and arms flowing in a wild flamenco just for him.

The beat changed as the Princesses transitioned into an instrumental bridge; Iris grinned as Julian pulled her back to him, and she grabbed one of his shoulders, the other hand wrapping around his waist as she took the lead. At first, he resisted, his eyes wide with surprise and confusion, but with a sigh of contentment he gave in, his eyes lighting up with happiness as he relaxed in her arms, making his body malleable as he followed her.

It was even easier for her to lead him than it was to follow. They stepped lightly together, buoyed by the lilting music, laughing together; when the time came to spin Julian out, Iris let go of his hand, twirling away, shimmying her hips seductively and meeting his eyes, reveling in his fiery gaze as she breached the distance between them, snapping him closer to her and lifting her leg up over his hip, which he reached for instinctively, clutching at the underside of her thigh. She kissed him hotly, slowly lowering her leg, and he kissed her back in kind while they swayed and spun together; they were still kissing when the song ended, Nadia’s rhythmic playing slowly fading out. Iris only pulled back when the music completely stopped, giggling at his flushed face. 

He nuzzled his lips against her forehead, kissing her. “I love it when you take the lead, Iris.” He murmured, for her ears only, and she smiled, her heart singing. 

The music started up again, slower, soothing, hypnotizing – Iris recognized this one, a soft, bittersweet mountain psalm. Iris felt a warm hand on the bare skin of her back; it was Asra, his eyebrows lifted in question. “May I cut in?” 

Julian kissed Iris one more time, sweetly, before guiding her into Asra’s arms. From far away, Iris heard Nadia’s voice rising above the music. 

“Julian, dear, Portia tells me you play the vielle spectacularly. Would you join us?” Julian blushed a little, turning to Iris and Asra with his brows raised roguishly before joining the small throng of Princesses. Nadia was still plucking out her gentle melody on the vihuela, Nasmira supporting her on the low-toned stringed instrument, and someone had handed Nahara a small maraxixi, which she shook while she sang, her voice smooth, soothing and throaty. Navra joined her sisters, dancing on her own next to Nahara; Iris and Asra were now the only ones on the dancefloor.

Iris laid her head on Asra’s shoulder and watched as Julian took the vielle out of its velvet-lined case; it was exactly the same as the one from her memory, and Julian’s brow furrowed as he held it in his hands. Iris realized, with a rush of adoration, that his body recognized the instrument as his own, slinging it low under his chin and running the rosined bow over the horsehair strings, striking a soft, sweeping countermelody to Nadia’s playing, as if the instrument had always belonged in his hand. 

Iris thought of what Julian had told them in the bath earlier that day, that his father had been a musician. She wondered if Nikolya Devorak had also played the vielle, had taught Julian as a child. She smiled; she was sure that if his father saw Julian now, playing beautiful music with a quartet of magnificent, ferocious Princesses, he would be so proud.

Asra wound his hands around Iris’s waist, fingers settling at the base of her spine, wrapping her into a close embrace, resting his chin on top of her head as they swayed together to the soft music. “Asra, I don’t think you’ve ever told me about your parents.” Iris said quietly, turning her head so she was murmuring into his warm, sweet neck. “At least, I don’t remember.” 

Asra’s breath fluttered against her hair as he sighed. “I don’t think I have, either.” He was quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts; Iris could feel his heartbeat quicken a little against her chest as she wrapped her arms around his waist, her hands smoothing against the strength of his back. “They just disappeared one day when I was 11 or so. They had been working here, at the palace. I had always assumed they had been killed.” 

Iris pulled away a little, meeting his gaze, counting back the years. “They worked for Lucio?” 

He nodded. “A year or two after he became Count. They were commissioned to build his arm – my father was an alchemist, a machinist, and my mother was a researcher, adept at all kinds of magic, healing, potions...illusions.” 

Iris touched his face tenderly. “Just like you.” He smiled a little wanly, and said nothing, his eyes far away. She chewed on her lip, gently rubbing his back as they circled together in their slow, dreamy waltz. “But what were they like? As people?” She murmured. She wanted Asra to remember the good times, not the sad. 

Asra smiled now, as memories flooded him. “My mother...was half Nuru. She was always speaking in riddles, these little idioms that didn’t make any sense in Vesuvian. She would translate them for me, try to explain, but I was too little. She would always say I’d understand when I got older.” He chuckled, once, quietly. “She was so intelligent, read voraciously, read to me all the time, taught me Nuru. And my dad...he was funny, always making me laugh. He made all of my toys, these fantastical alchemical machines that fit in the palm of my hand. He taught me how to draw, how to see and observe, but to pay attention to the unseen, too. They gave me a book on the Tarot and the Arcana that my mother wrote, my father illustrated, when I was really little.” 

Iris kissed his cheek. “They loved you so much. They would be so proud of you.” 

Asra kissed her softly, his hand finding hers, holding it at waist-level while they twirled slowly around the ballroom; Iris couldn’t help but catch some of the lyrics in Nahara’s clear voice: _“And we’ll undress beside the ashes of the fire...” _

They broke their kiss and stared deeply into each other, their foreheads pressed together. “I don’t think about them very often anymore.” Asra whispered to her. “They’ve been gone almost 20 years.” He brushed a lock of her hair out of her eyes. “But I like to imagine you meeting them. What they would think of you.” His smile was radiant now, Iris, dazzled. “My mother always said my partner would need the patience of a saint.”

She snorted. “Unfortunately, you have me.” 

Asra looked at Iris as if she were the most divine and beautiful mystery in the world. “They would love you, Iris. It would give them peace to know how I feel when I’m with you.” He kissed her forehead as they swayed. “I could stay like this forever. I never want to let you out of my arms again, my heart. My love.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Iris whispered as she rested her head against Asra’s lips. The song was nearing its end, growing quieter as the melody drifted away like autumn leaves on a breeze. When it finally finished, Iris pulled Asra tighter to her, breathing in his scent, wishing their moment would never end. 

When Nadia’s clear voice echoed across the ballroom, it was Iris she called. “Dear Iris, would you sing for us?” Iris heard her explain to her sisters, “She has the most remarkable voice. You must hear her.” 

She had put the vihuela down, now sitting at the polished piano, her gaze turned back to Iris over her shoulder. Nasmira had put down her instrument as well, and wordlessly gestured towards Julian’s vielle as Iris approached the great, gleaming piano, Asra trailing behind her. The other Princesses relinquished their instruments as Julian handed Nasmira the vielle, his hands hanging a little awkwardly at his sides until a servant flitted by and handed him glass of Golden Goose. Another offered one to Iris, as well as Nahara and Navra behind her, which Iris took gratefully, letting the tiny bubbles bend like dancers over her tongue as she sipped. 

Nadia began playing gentle chords that hovered and lingered in the air around them. “Iris, I hope you don’t mind...but this song has been coming to me in my dreams since I heard you sing. I thought maybe...” Nadia turned her curious eyes to Iris, standing at her elbow, “...you would recognize it.” 

Besides her, Nasmira pulled the bow long and languid across soft, sweeping notes, flowing like water over Nadia’s gentle chords. Iris’s heart twisted; it was one of her own, the words bubbled up in her like a spring, overwhelming. Iris could feel tears welling in her eyes even as the first lyrics fell from her lips. 

_“I feel nervous in a way that can’t be named...”_

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Asra approach Julian, not wanting to intrude on the trio of performers; for a moment, the two stood in silence, watching Iris sing as a tear dropped down her cheek. Julian’s hands shook around his wineglass, his brows furrowed with concentration, with confusion. 

“Why...do I know this song?” He muttered, to no one in particular. He felt the music in the marrow of his bones, knew every shifting chord, every soft loop or dip of Iris’s voice, before it happened; he was thrown off by Nasmira’s playing – he heard, expected, different chords, more dissonant ones, setting off the dreamy loops and runs of Iris’s lyrics, her voice. 

At his side, Asra shifted, and gently placed his hand on Julian’s shoulder, as Nadia, Iris, and Nasmira moved into an epic, swelling chorus, Iris’s voice rising and reverberating powerfully through the hall. “You do know it.” Asra murmured quietly. “She wrote it when you were together.” 

Julian’s brows furrowed in earnest now, though a voice from the deep whispered to him that it was true. He turned to Asra, his lips parting as he searched the magician’s face. “How do you know that?” 

Asra’s eyes were far away as he squeezed Julian’s shoulder. “All will be clear soon, but...Iris loved you then, and you loved her. This...helped her let go of me. You helped her let go.”

Julian’s expression melted into true confusion now. “Let go?” 

Asra’s eyes were mercury, liquid, as he shook his head sadly. “You cared for her when I couldn’t, as best as you could. For that...I’m grateful. Thank you.” 

The expression that washed over Julian’s face was pained, downturned. “I’m not sure that you should be thanking me for anything. I can’t shake the feeling that I hurt her.” He sighed heavily. “The same way I hurt you.” 

Iris’s voice rose even more, swelling like she was singing a spiritual; her eyes were closed, her mouth wide as the music poured from her, Nadia practically pounding the keys to match her strength. 

Asra leaned into Julian now; the doctor had to drop his head down to hear the magician as he whispered. “Pain is the price we pay for being alive, Ilya. It makes pleasure, the light, all the sweeter. If you hurt either of us, the light you give outshines it.” 

Julian shook his head. “I made a lot of assumptions about us. I didn’t know what I wanted, what I needed. It wasn’t fair to you.” 

“We both weren’t at our best then. I’m not proud of how I treated you, either.” Asra said quietly. “Let’s let the past be the past.” 

Julian smiled softly. “We were friends once, Asra; I would like for us to be friends again.” 

Asra smiled knowingly, his eyes narrowing playfully, but he said nothing. Instead, he let his head come to rest on Julian’s shoulder, his hand shifting down from his shoulder to his back, making the doctor blush ever so slightly. 

Nadia and Iris were both singing now, Nadia harmonizing to Iris’s giant voice as they stormed through the thunderous chorus one last time; the song ended with a final, hopeful chord. Iris, unable to contain herself, rushed past Nasmira to fling her arms around Asra and Julian, one arm over each of their shoulders, as she tried to hide the tears that swam freely down her cheeks. 

Asra’s hand immediately flew to her back, drawing her into his arms; Julian kissed her hair, cooing softly, soothingly into her ear. The Princess Navra heaved a sigh behind them; Iris turned back to her, wiping away her tears as surreptitiously as she could. 

“What raw power, what passion!” The Princess cried softly. “I’ve never heard a song steeped in so much pain, and so much hope. Clearly, love has given you a taste of all it has to offer.” Her eyes swung to Asra and Julian now, brows arched curiously. “The sweet, the bitter, and everything in between.” 

Nadia was still sitting at the piano, her hands shaking a little. “I do believe...I could use some air.” She said quietly, standing quickly. “Iris, thank you so much for joining me, but I’ll be retiring to the veranda.” 

“Oh, night air sounds lovely.” Nasmira said. Iris saw, for the briefest moment, Nadia’s brows twitch with annoyance, but she smiled graciously, if wanly. 

“Please, sisters, do join me.” She said, her gaze swinging from Nasmira to Navra to Nahara. “Iris, Asra, Dr. Devorak...you are welcome to join as well.”

“I think...” Asra began, but he paused, staring deeply into Iris’s gaze, his lips shaped around the question that caught in his throat as he waited for Iris’s answer. 

“I’m still quite exhausted from earlier today. I think I’ll return to my room.” She said quietly. 

Asra’s mouth curled into a soft, satisfied smile. “I’ll escort her.” 

Nadia’s gaze fell on Julian now, an arched brow raised. “And you, Doctor?” 

Julian flushed a little. “I’d like to see Iris to her room also.” 

The Countess smirked almost imperceptibly. “Do see to it that she rests a little, at least.” The servants were rushing forward now to retrieve the instruments as Nadia’s eyes flitted knowingly between the three of them; Nasmira tittered a little into her wrist, and Nahara’s eyes glinted mischievously. Iris felt the color rising on her cheeks as the four Princesses awayed to the balcony. 

It wasn’t a long walk back to the guestrooms; it was only when Iris’s hand fell on the handle of her door that she noticed how Julian hesitated behind her. She turned and surveyed him, her thick brows arched in question; Julian blushed. 

“I...my room is just a few doors down...I’ll see you tomorrow, I suppose?” His eye swam between her and Asra, questioningly; Iris was a little touched by his deference. She turned to Asra, whose hand slid around her waist. The warmth that radiated from his eyes was smoky and sultry, heady as the damp, the haze, after summer rain, but there was a tenderness, too, the coy carefulness of spring’s first buds. She knew. 

“Julian...won’t you join us?” She entreated him softly. “There’s plenty of room in our bed.” 

Julian’s eye flew wide, surprised – then, the visible pupil flooded ink-black, and Iris surged. He placed his hand on her cheek, tracing the graceful curve of her jaw, and she leaned into his touch, her long neck arching. His gaze flitted to Asra’s, who smoldered at Iris’s side – there was no mistaking their intentions. Without a word, Julian slid open the door, and all three of them slipped inside. 

There was hardly a moment’s hesitation after the door slid shut on its gilded tracks with a clack. Soft lips fell on Iris’s neck as Julian kissed her, the heat of his breath prickling on her skin; on her other side, Asra wound his hand around her chin and pulled her mouth to his, his tongue slipping easily across her lips. Julian grabbed gently at the sweet swells of her hips as his tongue laved up the length of her neck, swirling hotly in her ear. 

Iris turned away from Asra and kissed Julian now, needfully, tongues tangled. Asra’s hand flew up to her hair as he kissed her jaw, lips firm against her skin until his mouth brushed up against Julian’s; they both turned, in tandem, and kissed each other, gently, hesitantly at first their lips lingering over each others’ - then they were ravenous, entangled in each other as Iris nuzzled into Julian’s neck, dragging her nails lightly down Asra’s back as she watched the two of them. 

The three of them fell into the bed, Julian on his back, Iris and Asra each on an arm. Iris staked her claim on Julian’s mouth, kissing him deeply, nipping and licking his lower lip as she ran her hands through his hair; his hand ran down her back and groped once at her ass before trailing back up, fumbling a little with the closures of her dress. Asra laved his tongue over Julian’s long neck, dipping and swirling into the shapely shadows cast by his clavicle, his hands smoothing over the silk that covered his stomach. Iris could feel Julian’s shuddering breath against her lips as Asra’s attentions shifted to the exposed skin of Julian’s chest, pushing the loose fabric aside before nudging his teeth against a hardening nipple. 

Julian had worked the closures of Iris’s dress open now, and the billowing fabric fell away from her body like a column of clouds. She sat up, breaking her eye contact with Julian only to lock eyes with Asra, who watched her hungrily as she pulled the dress over her shoulders, leaving only the velvet choker. Julian let out a soft moan as his reverent gaze roved over her nakedness, his hand trailing gently down her side. 

“Oh, my darling...” He murmured, pulling her back into his arms, her lips on his lips, her breasts pillowing against his chest. 

Asra’s hand on Julian’s chest trailed over to Iris’s back, caressing her spine, electricity sparking through him at her smoothness, at the way she arched her back, giggled and moaned against Julian’s kiss. Asra let his hand linger on the small of her back for a moment before sliding across and under the hills of her ass down to her vulva. 

That touch, so liquid, so tender, so needy, had Iris groaning as Asra traced her labia, already growing slick with anticipation. She turned away slightly from Julian, pressing her cheek into his as she ground down a little on Asra’s hand, guiding him to where she wanted to be touched; Julian took this opportunity to nip at her neck, run his fingers through her hair, grab at Asra’s strong back. He grunted, his breath hot against Iris’s neck, as Asra bit his nipple hard before pulling away. 

Asra sat up, not taking his hand away from Iris, as his magic undid the chinoiserie clasps that held his vest together, revealing his amber chest. His lips twisted into a mischievous smile as he parted Iris’s lips and softly pulsed the pads of two fingers against her clitoris. She cried out softly, arching her ass up, her pubis rubbing against Julian’s clothed hip; he pinked as Asra watched his sex stir in the seat of his pants. 

“Ilya...” Asra murmured, a coolness sparkling through his voice that Iris had only heard twice before, though this time, it was gentler, sweeter. “Tell Iris what you want to do to her.” 

Julian reddened considerably, his gray eye flitting uncertainly from Asra to Iris, but Iris could feel his heartbeat quicken hotly under her fingers, smoothing across the pale, freckled skin of his chest. He opened his mouth once, then closed it, his breath catching – it was then that Asra pinched Julian’s pert nipple, rolling it teasingly between his fingers. 

“Don’t make Iris wait, Ilya, honey.”

Julian whimpered as he brushed his lips against Iris’s ear, his breath ragged. “Iris, I...oh...” He was flushed from ear to sternum, lips soft and quivering around a moan as Asra tweaked his pebbled skin again. “Iris, I’ve… I’ve wanted to lick your pussy since I saw you in that lace this morning. Please...” He begged, his voice beautiful even as it broke. “Sit on my face, darling – a-and use me, I want to make you come, over and over and over again...” He whined now, voice high and tight, as hot wanting rushed over him. “Please, please _draga_, darling, let me taste you...” 

Asra chuckled darkly, pulling his hand away from Iris to fumble with the buttons and zippers of Julian’s pants. “Iris...could you refuse a man who begged so beautifully?” 

“How could I?” She murmured, her indigo eyes sparkling as she rose. Julian let out a sweet, excited gasp as Iris sat up, swaying a little on the hinge of her waist for him before climbing over his shoulders, framing his face with her thighs. Slowly, teasingly, she lowered herself onto his parted, waiting lips; he was so riled up he didn’t even tease her, lapping feverishly against her clit, wrapping his hands around her ass and guiding her even closer. 

Iris arched her back and moaned, letting her hands come to rest on his shoulders; she was trying not to smother him, but he seemed intent on burying his whole face between her legs. Suddenly, she felt Asra’s lips and tongue on her back and neck, making her cry out in surprise and pleasure. Having loosed the closures around Julian’s hips and pulled his suit pants down, his erection throbbing against the silk hem of his shirt, Asra ground his own hardness, still clothed in his soft pants, against Julian as he peered over Iris’s shoulder, taking in the scene below him: Julian’s red face between Iris’s quivering thighs, his lips and chin soaked, his tongue working wildly, skillfully, while she rolled her hips against him.

“What a sight.” He growled into Iris’s ear just as she moaned again, Julian delivering a particularly firm stroke of his tongue. Asra trailed his fingers down Iris’s back; he groped her sweet seated ass, dimpled and cushioned against Julian’s shoulders, before dragging his fingernails over Julian’s chest. Julian arched his back slightly at the rougher touch, moaning and plunging his tongue even deeper into Iris, earning him a little quivering cry. Asra smirked as his erection throbbed; he had never been more turned on in his life. 

He backed his hips off of Julian’s and shimmied down, lowering his lips to where the trail of dark, thick hair on Julian’s stomach lead; he ran his tongue between the ridges of Julian’s sharp creases, relishing the little jerks and twitches his touch elicited. Julian arched his back again, now groaning in anticipation, as Asra ran his teeth lightly over the sensitive skin of his pubis, nipping the inside of his thighs, before pushing the flat of his tongue hotly against the base of Julian’s shaft, running it up his entire length before circling the tip. 

Julian squeezed and kneaded Iris’s thighs, trying to concentrate on her as Asra pleasured him; the magician was sucking on the tip now, doing something unreal with his magic, making his mouth hot and tight and sweet...

“Fuck!” Julian cried as Asra deep-throated him, gag reflex magically suppressed; the doctor whimpered as Asra moved slowly, languidly, up and down, his tongue flicking wickedly against the salty, musky skin. Julian redoubled his efforts on Iris, who was moaning above him, her back arched and her head thrown back, running her own hand through her hair as bliss began to coil tightly through her. She gently rocked her hips against Julian’s tongue, guiding him to her pleasure. Julian loosed his grip on one of her thighs to reach up and cup one of her breasts, pushing it up and pinching the nipple. 

Iris keened at the little pain, biting hard on her lip as she focused on the orgasm swelling inside her; she knew she was making enough noise to rouse the whole palace, but how could she not, the way Julian was making her feel? She gritted her teeth and then gasped, her mouth wide, as her body snapped, hot sweet pleasure flooding her. Her lips formed the name before she could even summon it to her mind, crying it over and over as she came, “Ilya, Ilya, m-my Gods, _Ilya_...” 

Julian moaned with happiness and slowed his tongue as Iris orgasmed, worshiping her dimpled folds as she called his name into the night. Asra felt his own untouched erection stir, almost painfully, at the sound of her voice, throaty and full of pleasure; he took all of Julian’s length into his mouth, burying his nose into the thick swatch of hair, determined to finish him. Julian couldn’t take much of this; as Iris ran her hands through his hair, staring deeply into eyes as she regained her breath, he grunted softly, grimacing with pleasure as he came down the magician’s throat.

Iris continued to run her hands through Julian’s hair as he leveled, even as she clambered slowly off of him, her legs shaking. She made to turn to Asra, but the magician had already wrapped his strong hands around her hips, guiding her onto her back on the bed. Iris thought he was going to mount her, and she spread her legs wide around his hips, her breath coming to her in gasping pants in excitement, but he smiled wickedly as wrapped his hands around her thighs, lowering his mouth to her vulva, tonguing her hot and slow. 

Iris whimpered, twitching her hips against him; she had still not settled fully from her orgasm, her body still ringing like a struck bell, but Asra knew what he was doing, starting gently, carefully, savoring her overstimulated cries, her jerky, desperate movements. Besides them, there was a quiet, shuddering moan – Julian, watching them through parted lips, his eye still foggy with pleasure. His gaze roved to Asra, full of naked need. 

Asra smirked, and guided Iris to her side, his head coming to rest on her thigh as she planted the foot of her other leg on the bed, giving him comfortable access to her while he laid on his back. He opened his legs as he laved Iris, and Julian practically dove in like a starved man, pawing Asra’s pants down around his knees, a long hand wrapping around Asra’s cock as the doctor took the tip into his mouth. 

Asra groaned loudly as Julian attended to his neglected erection, taking the whole length in his mouth to coat it before working his hand and mouth in tandem, stroking and sucking. Julian’s hips were by Iris now, and even though he had just came, he was growing hard again. She guided his hips towards her, grabbing and kneading the muscles of his glutes while she panted; Asra increased his pressure on her skin, though he still worked her slowly, languidly, all the way down her sex, the tip of his tongue even passing over her anus before moving back up to her clitoris. 

Once Julian had shimmied close enough to her, Iris wrapped her lips around one of his testes, swirling her tongue softly around it before figure-8-ing over to the other; she did this a few times, her heart and body surging at the soft muffled sounds Julian made in response. Iris could feel the hum of pleasure on Asra’s lips as Julian played with his body, long, cool fingers stroking his perineum and massaging his scrotum. When Julian grew fully hard again, Iris ran her tongue up and down his shaft several times before wrapping her tongue around the tip and taking it into her mouth, sucking hard as she slowly took his length inch by inch, stopping only when she could fit no more into her mouth.

If their pace before had been frantic and needful, it had simmered down now to dreamy and loving, each touch careful and thoughtful, each movement designed for intense pleasure. Asra introduced a finger to Iris, gently circling the pad against her blooming sex before breaching her, curling the finger softly inside of her as she arched her back. This gentle movement made her go a little deeper on Julian, who groaned hotly and thrust a little against Iris; she grabbed at his hip and pulled him closer, even as she gagged as he slipped past the back of her throat. 

Iris could not believe the difference between her two lovers; where Julian had been frantic, eager to please, Asra was slow and teasing, almost withholding, as he smirked against her skin, reveling in the way his touches warped her body, drew up delicious cries, like a beautiful, finely tuned instrument. Julian was reverent, treating her like a goddess who he was unworthy of even kneeling in front of; Asra almost consumed her with his desire, like she was the most delicious meal in the world. Even as her second orgasm swelled between her legs, it felt different, less hot and gushing, but more sparking, more electric, making her toes curl, her legs twitch almost violently as Asra plunged another finger into her to the knuckle. 

Her heat and wetness, her quiet, muffled cries, paired with Julian’s moans as Iris danced him closer to another orgasm, finally overwhelmed Asra; he pulled away from Iris and pressed his lips together as a guttural moan drew up from his belly. He reached down for Julian’s auburn curls, pulling hard as he came into the doctor’s mouth without a word. 

Iris was not far behind him; she ground her hips against his fingers and nearly howled as her pleasure arched through her, searing through her like brushfire before suddenly disappearing, leaving her spent, empty, blank, blissful. Asra kissed her now, her trembling thighs, her dripping sex, the pleasant creases of her seat, as Iris worked Julian over the edge; he was in heaven, his head spinning from bringing both his lovers to orgasm, that when his own second swell of bliss burst through him into Iris’s mouth, it brought with it a deep, soul-filling satisfaction. 

Iris disentangled herself as she swallowed her treat, savoring Julian’s taste as she rolled over onto her back, her trembling knees falling open. Julian panted at her side, his voice high and soft and sweet, making her heart swell; she reached out and rubbed the inside of his thigh fondly, humming gently with bliss. 

Asra crawled to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and laying his head on her stomach, kissing her gently, his breath against her skin as soft as a prayer as he whispered, “I could get used to this.” 

Iris didn’t remember much else, some moving, helping her lovers remove the rest of their clothes as they all slipped between the sheets, dropping soft kisses onto each others lips, cheeks, shoulders, any available skin, before they fell into deep sleep, entangled in each others’ arms.

*******

When Iris awoke, startled from a dream she could not remember, it was still dark, and the waxing gibbous moon was slung low on the horizon. She was nestled between Asra and Julian, her arm curled over Julian’s chest as he slept on his back, his cheek against her hair, his hand on her hand; Asra’s arm was wrapped around her waist, his chest pressed flush to her back, his hand on Julian’s stomach. She desperately didn’t want to get up, but she knew sleep was not in the stars for her now.

As carefully as she could, she disentangled herself from the arms that surrounded her, crawling gently over Julian; she heard a shift behind her as Asra snuggled into the crook of Julian’s arm and – Iris’s heart soared – Julian gently kissed Asra’s hairline in his slumber. Iris smiled, a little sadly, as she regarded them; she did not yet know what would become of their rekindled attraction, but her love – for both of them, she realized, with a pang – overwhelmed her, pinked in her, nearly drowned her, just at the thought of them sharing it, too. 

Without thinking, Iris grabbed her deck from her satchel – her own deck, the one that Asra had drawn for her years ago, when he taught (re-taught) her how to commune with the Arcana, to hear their voices and divine the future. It practically hummed to her, singing out with night music, ominous, pulsing, and gentle. She sat in a square of moonlight that sequined the polished marble floor, letting it paint over her bare skin as she shuffled the deck and gently placed the first card on the corner of the finely woven Rostam carpet. 

She couldn’t help but smile, fully, softly. **The Lovers**, two geese flying into a starburst of light against a forget-me-not sky. Lasting unions, shared values, love and desire. Iris’s heart flooded as she remembered drawing this card for Julian a little over a week ago, that night at the Raven. The card was not just speaking of her, she realized, but of Asra, too. 

She flipped the second card, and furrowed her eyebrows. **The Wheel of Fortune**, a dreamcatcher, woven through with rainbow thread, the sun below, the moon above. A change of fortunes, the workings of fate and destiny. Lips pursed, she flipped the next card. She could not interpret the wheel without what came next. 

Iris gasped, and nearly dropped the card as her hands shook. **The Tower**, acid yellow streaks of lightning splicing the top of a tall conifer tree. Sudden change, upheaval, despair. She started at the card, her own breath whistling through her ears like an oncoming steam train. Whatever was coming… it was a force, and it would upend them all. And there was not much they could do to stop it. 

“Iris?” A voice called from the bed, warm and sleepy – Asra. She quickly shuffled the cards back into her deck, after memorizing their order, their images, the feelings they invoked to her. She climbed into bed on his other side, and he wrapped his arm around her, hand resting on her shoulder. She could not hide her trembling from him. 

“You’re shaking...” He murmured, his eyelids fluttering against her skin, fighting the sands of sleep. “A dream? A memory?” 

“No,” She whispered into his neck. “A vision of the future.” 

His eyes closed slowly. “Whatever you saw...we’ll face it together, my heart.” He muttered, kissing her cheek. “My love.” Iris swallowed hard, her heart skittering with panic; but with Asra’s deepening breath in her ear, his gentle murmurs as he dreamed, Julian’s fingers drifting up Asra’s chest to loop sleepily with hers, Iris slowly drifted back to sleep.

*******

Iris’s eyes ached in the white – she was submerged in comforting milkiness, her face and chest prickling against the blank. It was blindingly silent, even as the waters shifted around her, buffeting against her like tides, and she turned.

A door, solid but liquid, rippling, like marble coated in milk, a thousand times taller than her – screaming faces pressed desperately into the surface, undulating, writhing, straining against the opaque miasma that wrapped around them, suffocating, suffocating. But they were soundless, as they always had been, and Iris was no longer afraid of them even as she stepped out of the warmth that surrounded her, her feet feeling nothing of the ice-cold threshold. 

She searched the faces, as she had for as long as she could remember, her hand outstretched, but she knew better than to touch – she had never tried, but she knew, she knew. But there were so many, there was so much movement, she couldn’t even pinpoint exactly what she was looking for, everything was so fuzzy here, so formless, so nothing, even as her heart ached desperately – 

Hands, soft, soothing, whispered over her shoulders, arms wrapping around her chest. A quiet voice in her ear, wild hair tickling her. “Iris, child. You won’t sleep?” 

Her voice faltered in her throat, unused, raw. “Something...something is...I hear – why do I…?” 

“Oh, Iris.” Hands smoothed over her soaked hair now, touch like smoke, like opium, like mother’s love. “You splendid, curious thing. Come back to me.” 

Iris stared at the door, her gaze slow as it rolled over the faces, gasping, crying, shrieking. “No.” Iris said. “No, you’re right.” 

Her companion’s voice was hills, shadowed and slow. “They’ll come for you soon, child.” She crooned, even as her voice frayed, the millions and millions of threads that bound it together straining. “Everyone walks through that door, into my arms. Eventually.” 

Iris nodded, tears needling her eyes, even as the emptiness engulfed her, warm, warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _MOC: See you in book 3. _

**Author's Note:**

> I have a tumblr - jury's out on whether I know how to use it.   
If you like dumb Arcana memes, jokes that only make me laugh, and pictures of pretty clothes, come hang out with me at [MotherOfQups](https://motherofqups.tumblr.com).


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